


The Best Man

by barelypink



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Best Man, Drunk Patrick, F/M, Karaoke, Lots of Angst, M/M, Marcy Brewer is mom goals, Mutual Pining, Proposals, Rings, Tea, Weddings, brief allusions to miscarriage/infertility, but it has a happy ending, maybe this gets religious?, oops we fell asleep in one bed, rehearsal dinner, spiritual introspection or whatever, wedding interruptus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelypink/pseuds/barelypink
Summary: So here he is. It’s actually happening. His best friend is getting married. He has never hated himself more.And this is David Rose we’re talking about here, who has practically perfected the art of self-loathing, so that’s really saying something.But when he watches Patrick Brewer walk down the aisle in his rented tux to take his place at the altar next to him, his best man, there is only one relentless thought in David’s head:He should be marrying me.***Or, David is the best man at Patrick and Rachel's wedding.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 377
Kudos: 625





	1. I Can't Think of Anyone Else

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Welcome. Everything is fine! This fic is nearly complete and the chapters will be posted on Tuesdays and Thursdays, if all goes as planned. Since tonight's episode is titled _Maid of Honour_ , it seemed appropriate that I should post a fic called _The Best Man_ on the same day. So here we go. 
> 
> Each chapter was heavily inspired by a particular song. This chapter—and its title—were taken from [Julien Baker's 'Something'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoUcRbnVrLQ). Take a listen if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> Thanks to Pants for helping me to develop this idea in its baby stages and for being such a supportive and precise beta. Another huge thanks to likerealpeopledo for also providing beta services and for shaping the story into something much better than I could create on my own. And a huge shout-out to vivianblakesunrisebay for offering general support and encouragement and for giving me perhaps the best advice I've ever gotten as a writer: "just write what you want to read."

So here he is. It’s actually happening. His best friend is getting married. He has never hated himself more. 

And this is David Rose we’re talking about here, who has practically perfected the art of self-loathing, so that’s really saying something. 

But when he watches Patrick Brewer walk down the aisle in his rented tux to take his place at the altar next to him, the best man, there is only one relentless thought in David’s head: _he should be marrying me._

***

They met years ago, before the money was gone, before David learned that kindness was its own form of currency, before he became the sort of person who deserved a friend like Patrick. Johnny hired an accounting firm to handle the books at the gallery without consulting David and then there was Patrick, freshly employed by Ernst and Young with his eager face and rolled-up sleeves to wrestle numbers on behalf of David’s fledgling art enterprise. 

David wishes he could remember their first meeting, remember if he noticed then all the things he’d come to love about Patrick, but he’s pretty sure Patrick was sassy and David was rude. It was not an auspicious start to what would become David’s most enduring friendship, the barometer by which he would measure all other relationships. Maybe that’s why he didn’t really have any other friends; either he was broken or they weren’t Patrick. 

But once a month, Patrick would appear like clockwork to pore over David's sales receipts and expense reports, fingers flying over his keyboard in a way that always made David's heart pick up speed. At first, Patrick just came in and did the job, fast and tidy, economical in both his interactions with David and his billable hours. But as David slowly started to engage with Patrick more and more every month, David noticed that Patrick's time at Rose Gallery started to expand and stretch, one day becoming two, two days becoming three. Patrick played it off by saying the gallery was just doing better business and therefore he needed more time, but David was well aware that that was a lie. 

Patrick knew he knew it too.

So David started ordering in dinner for the two of them from his favorite nearby restaurants or inviting Patrick out for a drink at the wine bar across the street. David would talk about the new artists he was courting or current cultural events while Patrick would talk about his sportsball teams and workplace woes. But sometimes, the times David liked best, they would just talk about their lives. Patrick would speak fondly of his sensible parents and idyllic childhood in Canada. David would recount the greatest hits of his mother's histrionics or his sister's latest hair-raising exploits.

And Patrick would laugh at all the right parts and look concerned when David let too much slip and he took all the truths David gave him and tucked them where David knew they'd always be safe. David tried to do the same for Patrick, nodding along when he talked about his long working hours or the confusion he felt about adult life, and David would touch his arm in what he thought was the universal sign of comfort and understanding. And Patrick would smile like David's touch had made a difference.

David had never known anything could feel so nice. Or so real.

But then he went and wrecked it. Because that's just what David Rose does best.

***

David has replayed it countless times in his head, but he’s never been able to pinpoint the moment where it could have happened differently. It was inevitable, inexorable, unavoidable. They’d been colliding their way to this for over a year. 

It was the opening night of a new exhibit at the gallery. David was sure it was going to be a success, so he had invited Patrick to be there to witness it. The money that came in was very good, and Patrick was crowing about all the beautiful black numbers he’d see when he updated his spreadsheets. They were both slightly tipsy or Patrick was and David was intoxicated on him or their success or both or none of these things. Maybe David was actually stone cold sober. 

What David does remember is that they were alone in a dark corner in one of the back rooms where they had been blessedly undisturbed by the large crowd still haughtily inspecting the new exhibit in the front. They were laughing one second and then the next they were kissing, Patrick pressed into David’s side like he had been carved to fit there. Patrick's lips were hot and wet and insistent and his eyes were like flashing bulbs of desire. But then the moment was broken—by what or who, David can't remember—and the gossamer thread of possibility snapped.

They didn’t talk about the kiss that night or the next day or the next. David convinced himself that Patrick was too drunk, didn’t remember it or was too embarrassed, that it didn’t knock him completely sideways and upside down the way it had David. There was time, David figured, to untangle what all of this meant.

Two weeks later, Patrick was gone. David tried not to take it personally but that was hard to do. It was hard not to believe it wasn't his fault.

***

Patrick came in just as David was closing up the gallery late on a Friday night, his shoulders slumped and face lined with weariness. In a quiet voice, Patrick told David that a new consultant would be taking over the gallery's account and for a minute, David was afraid Patrick had been fired and that David kissing Patrick or Patrick kissing David—he really wished he could remember who did what first—had triggered it. But Patrick merely shook his head and said, with forced enthusiasm, that he'd just gotten his dream job in the business department of the Blue Jays. 

David could feel his brow furrowing in confusion. “You want to do accounting for birds?”

“The Blue Jays, David. They’re a professional baseball team. But thanks for proving that you didn't listen to anything I said about sports.” But Patrick did smile at him then, so maybe David wasn’t the world’s worst friend. 

“Oh, the baseball you like so much? Well, congratulations, Patrick. That is very exciting news for you.” 

David wondered fleetingly if it would it be weird to kiss Patrick as a congratulations. Friends did that, right? A perfectly normal friendly good-job kiss. That had to be a thing. But Patrick didn’t look terribly excited now that David looked at him more closely. He looked kinda terrible, actually.

Patrick swallowed and finally met David’s eyes. “I applied ages ago. I’d forgotten about it, really. It was such a longshot and so much time had passed. I had a phone interview the same day as the gallery opening. I almost blew it off, but I figured, what the hell? It doesn’t hurt to have a conversation, right?”

David had never had a job interview before--on the phone or otherwise--so he had no idea about proper interview etiquette. But David also knew that Patrick had worked staggeringly long hours to get somewhere in this world with no rich parents to finance him. He couldn’t pass up opportunities the way David so blithely did. The rules were not the same for them and David was sorry to be making that realization for the first time. 

“I guess they liked me,” Patrick continued, “because they brought me in for an in-person interview last week. They offered me the job three days ago and I put in my resignation today. I’ve told all my other clients, but I had...I wanted to tell you in person.”

“That’s considerate of you.” David hesitated. The number of times people had left him, you'd have thought David would be used to it by now. But it stung each and every time. “Am I missing something though? You don’t seem very excited. I thought this would be a good thing.”

"For my career, it’s a great thing. But personally, I’m...it means I’m leaving New York," Patrick finally admitted, eyes darting around the room but landing on nothing that captured his interest until he found David’s eyes. He didn’t look away again. "The Blue Jays are headquartered in Toronto. So...I’m moving back to Canada.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Oh.”

David couldn’t decide what to say or do first. He wanted to talk about the kiss and find out if Patrick had thought about it as much as he had. He wanted to beg him to stay. He wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to tell him how much he’d miss him. He wanted to snidely send him away before his heart broke. He wanted to cry. 

Instead, David simply said:

"Good luck, Patrick."

And watched him go.

***

David had assumed that when Patrick left New York, that would be the end of it, the end of the nicest friendship and almost-something-else he'd ever experienced. But David should have known better. Patrick was different than anyone he had ever met.

It started with a few casual texts about a month after Patrick moved. Soon, they were texting nearly every day, just to check in or share funny news or a random meme or GIF. This set off a very tense discussion about the proper pronunciation of GIF from which their friendship almost didn't recover. (Not that it matters, but David is obviously right.) 

And then there were the phone calls. David had never really been much of a phone talker before. Or rather, no one had ever wanted to talk to David on the phone for that long before. The problem was that David’s face did most of his communicating, and he found it difficult to say the things his face normally translated for him. But the words came easy with Patrick as they tripped over themselves to get out faster so he could bask in Patrick’s answering laugh or thoughtfully precise reply. 

Patrick had learned the geography of David’s voice, too, could easily detect the hidden undertones even without seeing David’s face. When they called each other, it felt like they were picking up a conversation midstream, like they’d never stopped talking. It made David grasp his phone with tight-fisted delight to hear Patrick's staticky voice through the line. He wished he could always have Patrick there in the palm of his hand. 

"I can hear that you're wearing Givenchy today," Patrick laughs knowingly when David answers Patrick’s latest call with a cheerful—for David Rose— _hello_.

"You can tell that from my voice?" David asks incredulously.

And if you don't think it's a turn-on to hear Patrick say that with just the right accent and just the right pronunciation, you’d be completely wrong. David is even more besotted. He wonders if he can get Patrick to say Yves St. Laurent or Dries van Noten sometime soon. 

"Well, you only wear Givenchy when you're in a good mood," Patrick teases, as if David should know this. He's never given it much thought but it makes his stomach swoop scandalously close to his toes to think that Patrick has discovered parts of his psyche that he has yet to uncover for himself. 

But then Patrick says, "And I may have seen your Instagram post from this morning." Which makes a lot more sense. 

Still, David files the sound of Patrick's soft, affectionate voice into his list of things he loves about him. And if his hand reaches for one of his Givenchy sweaters on the mornings after he talks to Patrick, well, that's just a coincidence. 

***

Six months after moving back to Canada, Patrick calls to say that he's gotten back together with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Rachel who just happens to be living in Toronto too. David ends the call quickly but thinks he managed to croak out a "That's great!" before hanging up. 

The next week, the Roses discover the extent of Eli's crime and their rapid plummet into poverty. 

David honestly can't decide which revelation hurts most.

***

David loses all his supposed friends, all his contacts, all his connections with the loss of his family's fortune and their move to Schitt’s Creek. All of them except Patrick. Patrick is the only one who stays true. Even with a new (old) girlfriend at his side. Because Patrick is a good friend. His best friend. 

***

Patrick calls on a Thursday to say he's moving in with Rachel. His lease is already up—David hadn't even realized it had been a whole year since Patrick moved away and he'd last seen him—and it just makes sense. It'll save money, Patrick tells him. That seems like a stupid reason to move in with anyone, David thinks, but he doesn't say that. He lives in a motel room with his sister now, after all. Instead David says:

"I’m happy for you."

The next day, David gets high with Stevie and hooks up with her in a heart-shaped bed with red satin sheets. It's immediately clear to David that it was a huge mistake, but he tells Stevie it was fantastic, because it actually really was. But he shouldn't have done it or said that. Still, it's only the second biggest lie he's told that week. 

***

David steals Roland’s truck. Not steals. _Borrows._ He refuses to consider any of his recent actions as felonious given his current mental and emotional state. He’s 87% sure that any sane judge will agree with him when he explains that he was a signature away from blessed freedom when it was snatched away because of Jocelyn’s famous mac and cheese. He’s owed this. 

He's not far outside of Schitt's Creek, the tires slapping a constant refrain of _away, away, away_ against the open road when David allows himself the smallest of satisfied grins. He should have escaped a long time ago.

He only thinks vaguely of his destination. New York sounds fine, he guesses. Where else would he go? But an hour into his drive, already bored of the unchanging scenery and the same five songs on the radio, he reaches for his phone and dials Patrick before he can even talk himself out of it. 

"I've escaped!" David exclaims as soon as Patrick picks up. It doesn't matter where he is or what he's doing; Patrick always picks up when David calls. 

"What do you mean, you've escaped? It's not like you were in prison." Patrick laughs into the phone and god, David has missed his melodiously amused voice. 

"I may have stolen the mayor's truck. I'm headed to New York right now."

"David." Now Patrick's voice is melodiously concerned, but he doesn't berate David or even threaten him that he won’t visit him in jail when he’s arrested for grand theft auto.

There's a long pause highlighted by the constant whirl of bald tires against gravelly road when Patrick finally says in a distantly hopeful voice: "Don't go to New York. Come here. You can stay with me."

David considers the offer and finds he likes it. Like everything is clicking into place. Why did he never consider going to Patrick's before?

"Rachel won't mind?" David asks, because he thinks that's what a considerate person would say. 

"Rachel is…" Patrick hesitates one beat, two beats, and then clears his throat. "Rachel isn’t here. We're taking a break right now."

"That's, uh.." _convenient_ "...very nice of you, Patrick."

'Well, it makes no sense to go to New York. Toronto is much closer and I'm here. Where are you right now? You could be here by dinnertime." Patrick sounds almost excited now, like he’s missed David just as much as David has missed Patrick. 

David closes his eyes—just a slow blink really because he is still driving, after all. He could see Patrick by dinnertime. Nothing has ever sounded better. He drives the car with more confidence and purpose now, a clear direction for this rusted truck to point to.

"David," Patrick repeats again when David still hasn't responded. "Come stay with me."

"I'm on my way." David says and he finally, finally is.

***

The car runs out of gas an hour later and 200 kilometers away from Toronto at an Amish farm, of all places. David uses the last of his phone battery to text Alexis (who doesn't respond, _typical_ ) but he can't bear to text Patrick anything but "I've been delayed" before his phone dies. 

He spends the next two days, gas-less and phone-less, in pure agony before his family arrives in Stevie's borrowed car to rescue him, such as it is. His mother mostly came for her ugly crocodile bag, evidently, and Alexis came to shout about sleeping with Mutt in front of his parents, a pitchfork-wielding Amish girl, and a startling array of bugs.

When he finally gets his phone recharged, he has 12 text messages and five voicemails from Patrick, growing increasingly frantic about David's lack of communication and non-appearance. The last voicemail makes David nearly cry when he listens to it. No one has ever sounded so worried about David and it makes him breathless with gratitude that at least Patrick cares about him in that panicked, worried way David has always felt about Alexis’s past disappearances.

He can't bear to hear Patrick's voice when he explains that he's not going to make it to Toronto, so he sends a text when he's back in Schitt's Creek explaining what happened 

Patrick sends back almost immediately: "I'm so glad you're okay. I was just about to come search for you myself."

David wishes more than anything that Patrick had found him instead of his family. He wishes it even more when Patrick tells him a week later that he and Rachel have reconciled and she's moved back into their apartment and things are better than ever.

Later, David feels certain that if he'd actually made it to Toronto that never would have happened. He would have finally worked up the courage to tell Patrick how he felt about him to his stupid, beautiful face. And maybe it would have driven Patrick back to Rachel's arms sooner, but David's pretty certain it would have finally propelled Patrick into _his_ arms where he actually belongs. 

But he can't say that now. Not when things are "better than ever." At least he's used to this level of heartache now. It feels almost familiar and comforting, a relic of his past life that the CRA didn’t strip away during their raid. 

***

The thing about Rachel is that David doesn't hate her. She's a cool girl, but not in a creepy _Gone Girl_ kind of way. She's relaxed and unfailingly kind, low maintenance—not like David—and is just as comfortable in a sports bar surrounded by a bunch of frat boys talking about baseball as she is with a group of giggling girls. She’s also beautiful in a delicate, unassuming way with clear translucent skin dusted with light freckles, flowing auburn hair, and soft brown eyes the size of saucers. In short, she looks like a Disney princess who cavorts with woodland creatures. And she and Patrick look right together. Like you look at them and think, _that makes sense_. David and Patrick….well, none of that makes sense. He knows that better than anyone. 

This is all brought home to David when Patrick comes to Schitt’s Creek to visit a year after David’s daring escape plan was thwarted by a lack of gas and the Amish’s aversion to technology. David is beside himself when Patrick says he’s going to drive out to Schitt’s Creek during a long weekend. They haven’t seen each other in over two years and David can’t quit babbling to Stevie about his best friend Patrick coming to visit him. Normally he’d make plans for the places they’d go eat at and the sites he’d take them to, but since this is Schitt’s Creek, David merely resigns himself to the fact that they’ll eat at the cafe and Patrick will see the motel and the place David now calls home. Patrick has already booked a room there for two nights. Mostly, David just wants to share a pizza and a bottle of whiskey with Patrick and talk, like old times. Maybe the alcohol will make him brave enough to finally tell Patrick how he feels. 

David is elated when he sees Patrick’s blue sedan pull up in front of the motel. He’s watching Patrick clamber out from behind the wheel when David notices that the passenger door flies open and a woman is climbing out too. He knows instantly it must be Rachel even though he’s never met her. She smiles joyfully and barrels toward David to hug him immediately. 

“I’m so excited to finally meet you, David!” 

She’s tiny—even smaller than Stevie—and David has to scrunch down to accept the arms she flings around his shoulders. David peers over her at Patrick in bafflement, but Patrick just shrugs and offers a deeply apologetic look.

“Wow. I didn’t expect both of you,” David finally says as he straightens up and readjusts his sweater. 

Rachel beams like a bright ray of sunshine and David can see why Patrick just naturally gravitates back toward her again and again. He’s never specified why they keep breaking up and getting back together, but David is starting to suspect that Rachel is not the one doing the breaking up. She’s looking at Patrick like David looks at Patrick: like he’s the earth, moon, and stars. 

Patrick seems incapable of speaking yet, so Rachel answers. “I begged Patrick to let me come. I’ve just heard so much about you, and I didn’t want to wait until next spring to meet you!”

David’s face contorts. He feels a growing sense of dread settling into his bones. “What’s happening in the spring?” He tries to ask lightly, but certainly Patrick can hear the panic in his words. He knows David’s voice too well now. 

Patrick’s mouth turns down in a worried line as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “We can talk about that later. Let’s get checked in and then maybe we can go grab something to eat. I know you must be starving already.” And now Patrick finally gives David a real smile, a teasing lilt to his cheeks. And there’s the Patrick David remembers, the one he’s missed all these years. 

He tries not to let his annoyance show when he ushers Patrick and Rachel into the front office to have Stevie check them in. Stevie glances at the newly arrived pair, immediately reads the situation, and blessedly keeps her mouth shut except to tersely welcome them and wish them luck if they should need such amenities as consistent hot water, extra towels, or a decent night’s sleep. Rachel looks a little hesitant when she accepts the key Stevie drops into her hand, but Patrick is shaking with laughter. 

“David really did not lie when he described you,” Patrick says to Stevie. 

“Oh yeah?” Stevie raises her elegant brow in challenge. “And how did David describe me?”

“A Hot Topic reject who always gets the last word," Patrick says immediately. David could kill him.

Stevie narrows her eyes. "I’m going to take that as a compliment."

After Patrick and Rachel drop off their bags in their room, David drags Stevie with them to the cafe mostly so David doesn't feel like some awkward third wheel. But now all four of them are crammed into a booth at the cafe like they're on hell's version of a double date. Rachel is adorably flustered by the size of the menu and charmed by Twyla’s endearingly perky demeanor. Patrick, David notices, sits quietly and says nothing unless directly addressed. 

Stevie keeps glancing at David and Patrick, swiveling back and forth between the two of them like she’s watching an intense slow motion tennis match. She’s being blaringly obvious and David is about to kick her under the table when she clears her throat and asks, “So Patrick. Has David told you all about his new business idea?”

Patrick immediately looks up at that, face softening as he meets David’s eyes and transforms his face into a beaming smile. 

“He hasn’t said a word about it! What new business, David?” Patrick is practically wagging his non-existent tail in eagerness to talk business plans and finance. 

Under normal circumstances, David would have been thrilled to have an opening to discuss his plans for the old general store now that he’s secured the lease—despite his mother’s interfering shenanigans. In fact, he had hoped that part of Patrick’s visit could be spent picking his brain about some of the financial decisions and contracts he needs his vendors to sign. And if Patrick just so happened to create some magical spreadsheet for him that auto-calculated everything he’d need, then who was he to argue with his generous and competent friend? 

But Rachel is looking at him from over the menu, which has practically swallowed her whole—she really is a tiny little thing, maybe they should get her a booster seat—and David feels shy. It isn’t fair, but he doesn’t want to talk about his business in front of a complete stranger. 

“It’s nothing,” David says, with a capricious wave of his hand. He nearly knocks his glass of water over, but it doesn’t deter Patrick from staring at David with a steady gaze. 

“You’ve been talking my ear off about it for weeks!” Stevie protests before directing her comments to Patrick. “That building across the street is the old general store. It shut down a few weeks ago and David just signed the lease. He’s going to open a store that sells local products.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing to me.” Patrick’s face grows fond in a second. It’s astounding, really, how quickly he is able to do that, how he’s always been able to do that. David used to love that about Patrick, how he gave David his full and undivided attention and how his face telegraphed his heart in every twitch of his mouth and every tiny shrug. But David doesn’t want to see it now. It hurts a little too much when Patrick’s girlfriend is sitting right next to him, a tangible reminder of all the things David doesn’t get to have that she does. 

“That does sound amazing, David. Congratulations.” Rachel pipes up from her corner. She’s got a sincere face too. David’s sitting across the table from a matched set of fond, earnest faces and he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“Well, if you need any help with the more complicated business details, I’m more than happy to help. In any way.” Patrick says. David just nods his head silently and tries to give Patrick what he thinks is a smile. It could be a grimace. 

Twyla finally chooses that moment to return to the table to take their orders and then an awkward silence descends on the table. 

From beside Patrick’s side, Rachel finally pipes up, reaching to take Patrick’s hand as she does. 

“Well, we also have some exciting news to share!” She nudges Patrick in the ribs. It’s meant to be encouraging and playful, probably, but Patrick winces a little and David can see that his ears are turning red. Rachel, meanwhile, is practically her own solar system, she’s so radiant and bright. 

“Uh...yeah,” Patrick begins. “Rachel and I….um.”

“We’re getting married!” Rachel flashes her left hand which has a small teardrop-shaped diamond ring on _that_ finger. 

David had had a premonition ever since this red-haired wood nymph climbed out of Patrick’s car that his day would somehow end up just like this. He just knew that there would be bad news disguised as good news, and he tries valiantly and with every last shred of his self-respect to plaster a fake smile on his face. Stevie has gone blessedly still beside him. 

“Wow,” David finally manages to say. “That’s great. Really. So great...for you two.”

Patrick doesn’t look like it’s so great though. Why doesn’t he look ecstatic? David thinks if anyone had ever agreed to marry him, he’d be doing full body wiggles all over town. Patrick unclasps his hands from Rachel’s and threads his hands together like David’s seen him do many times before whenever he’s worrying over a bad number in his spreadsheets or his sportsball team is not sportsing well enough. 

“There’s something else.”

David’s stomach falls out his Rich Owens skirted pants. “Oh god. Rachel's pregnant.”

“What?” Patrick has the good sense to look horrified at that. “No. Not pregnant.” 

Rachel, to her credit, nods silently next to Patrick, and it’s clear from the look on her face that she thinks that’s spectacular news too. At least she has a little bit of sense. 

But that also means this isn’t some sort of shotgun wedding. That Patrick actually planned and wanted this. Or did he? David wonders if Patrick has been so single-minded in his pursuit to make Rachel happy at the expense of his own desires that he’s just going along with whatever she wants. He wishes he could ask him, but it’s not his place. 

Patrick rubs the back of his neck again. David always found that move irresistibly adorable. Now he finds it ...well, still irresistibly adorable but he feels guilty about it. Patrick finally meets David’s eyes again. 

“I mostly wanted to come here to ask if you’d be my best man. At the wedding this spring.” 

“Why?” David asks because he can’t help himself. “Don’t you have 53 first cousins? Why not one of them?”

“I don’t have 53 cousins, David. It's only 24. And I don’t want any of them. I want you. You’re my closest friend....who is also not related to me.”

“Wow. That’s kinda sad.” But David says it with a smile and Patrick returns it in kind. And it feels almost like old times, after all. 

“Well?” Patrick presses again, waiting for David’s reply. 

“I’m honored, Patrick.” David can’t tell Patrick what saying yes will cost him, not just in terms of his meager finances but to his heart and his pride. But loving Patrick also means that he doesn’t want to disappoint him either. He’d do anything for him. “I’ll think about it.” 

Patrick whispers, soft. “Okay.”

***

The meal is an awkward affair after that, not just because the food is less tolerably edible than usual. They can never seem to pick up the right thread of conversation to keep it going effortlessly. They do all try in their way, Stevie making insincere cracks about the town and David’s inelegant new beginnings there and Rachel trying to ask David personal questions in a misguided attempt to get to know him better. 

“What do you do, Rachel?” Stevie finally asks, when it’s clear David isn’t going to make the same effort. 

“Oh, I’m a pediatrician,” Rachel responds. 

“A foot doctor?” David asks, suddenly interested in the conversation again. He’d never asked much about Rachel before and Patrick never offered many details, but it figures that Patrick would marry someone successful and intelligent and committed to helping people. How is David supposed to compete with that?

“That’s a podiatrist,” Rachel laughs. “A pediatrician is a doctor for children.” She almost looks like she’s a tad embarrassed that she’s a doctor for tiny people. David gets that. He wouldn’t want to willingly subject himself to children either. 

But Stevie persists. “And you like that?”

“Oh, I love it. I’m finishing up my residency at a children’s hospital in Toronto, which is great. But we’ve talked about moving back to Elm Grove when I’m done. I’d love to open my own practice there. It’s where we grew up. It’s still home.” 

Rachel looks at Patrick hopefully. He merely grunts and says, “We’re still talking about it.”

That would mean giving up the dream job with the birds and the baseball, and David knows how much Patrick has already given up for that job, how hard it would be for Patrick to walk away now. Maybe he'd do it for Rachel though. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you love someone? 

After they finish their food, they all trudge back to the motel in a sad little train without much conversation. Patrick and Rachel retreat to their room with quick good-nights while David follows Stevie into the front office so he can finally wail out loud. 

Stevie listens to David’s whining with a hard face and then asks, “Don’t you think you should be happy for him?” If Stevie could be sincere or gentle, this is what she’d sound like. It just makes David feel worse.

“He’s making a huge mistake, Stevie.” 

Stevie nods her head knowingly. “We all make terrible mistakes.” She looks pointedly at David when she says it, but he needs no reminding of the mistakes he’s made with her. And yet, they’re still friends. “He wants you there, David. You need to be there for him."

“I don’t have to do anything,” David huffs, and even without all his former money and privilege, the entitlement comes back naturally to him. 

“I think,” and now Stevie sounds painfully kind and David hates this even more, “you need to see him get married so you can get over him.”

“Is it that obvious?” David asks quietly.

“That you’re in love with him?” Stevie responds with a raspy laugh. “It’s obvious to me because I know you. I don’t think anyone else could tell. To everyone else, you probably just look constipated.” 

“Great.” David throws his head back and sighs toward the ceiling. When he looks back at Stevie, his face is lined with pain. “Stevie, I don’t think I can.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“Not anymore,” David says bitterly. “You want the job?”

“God, no,” but the inkling of a smile on Stevie’s face lets him know that’s a lie. Two best friends. David feels lucky, despite it all.

***

David does say yes to being Patrick’s best man. How can he say no? So that spring, he goes. It costs him more than the price of the bus ticket or his pride for even riding public transit in the first place. But he goes, armed with two large suitcases and a gritty determination to see this wedding through to its bitter end.

He doesn’t miss what a cliche it is that the best man is in love with the groom. But this is David Rose we’re talking about here. He’s always wanted to be the star of a romantic comedy. 

Except this one might just be a tragedy. In this one, he might not get the guy at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic does share some DNA with My Best Friend’s Wedding, I didn’t intend it to be based on that movie. I re-watched it for the first time in a very long time last week and oof, it’s not great. Julia Roberts’ character is truly a terrible person and no one comes out looking good in that film. So any resemblances to that movie are not intentional.


	2. How I Picture Me With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two was becoming a 9,000 word behemoth so I decided to split it into two. But doing that meant I needed a new song lyric for the chapter title. I went with a line from friend of the show Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" which makes a cameo in this chapter. Thanks to this_is_not_nothing for suggesting the song. It really was the perfect choice and now I can't get it out of my head.

Three days before the wedding, Patrick picks up David from the bus station and greets him with a long, tight hug. There’s a feeling of rightness in Patrick’s arms and David can’t help leaning into it. He feels a little weak in the knees right there in the bus depot even though it smells of gasoline, exhaust, and broken dreams. When David pulls back, Patrick looks relieved or happy or relieved to be happy and David wonders if he should dig deeper into the look, but decides to leave it alone. There’s time enough, David thinks, for all the words he needs to say. 

Patrick and Rachel live in Toronto, of course, but they wanted to get married in their hometown of Elm Grove where the majority of their friends and family still live. In fact, David is one of the few people coming in from out of town, and as the best man, he's been afforded a place of honor with the Brewers. All of David’s extra cash is tied up in the store now and David suspects Patrick arranged it this way so that David wouldn’t have to stretch his already meager finances to foot the bill for a hotel. And while David wants to feel shame for that, he’s mostly just touched that thoughtful, considerate Patrick has found a way to make everything okay. Or as okay as it can be given the circumstances. 

“So how are the birds treating you?” David asks as they settle into the car for the ride to the Brewers’ house. It feels just a tiny bit awkward between them and he’s casting around for anything that can get them back onto less uneven ground. He really is curious about Patrick’s job even though he doesn’t understand a thing about baseball. At least he understands more of the business part now. And right now, he’ll talk about anything as long as it isn’t about the wedding. 

“It’s good, it’s good,” Patrick says with a suppressed smile. “This is the calm before the storm, as it were. The Jays are just about to head down to Florida for spring training, so I’ll be very busy soon. That’s why we had to schedule the wedding for right now.”

“And the baseball team...are they...good at the baseball?”

Patrick just laughs at that, deep and throaty. David’s cheeks burn just a little bit, but he doesn’t think it’s from embarrassment. 

“They’re getting there. They won their division in 2015 and had a shot at the World Series, but they’ve had a bit of a rocky go of it lately. But I never give up hope.” Patrick tilts his head and grins with unrestrained optimism now. His eyes stay on the road, but David still feels the intensity of Patrick’s attention shifting to him. “And what about your business? How’s your store coming along?”

“It’s coming,” David replies. It would be moving a lot faster if he had a business-minded go-getter like Patrick to help guide him through the process. David’s only had Ray, who seems to find nothing wrong with the glacial pace of small town bureaucracy. But David’s already managed to line up a few vendors and the promise of the store’s potential lives deep within his gut. “I finally decided on a name.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Rose Apothecary.” 

Patrick is silent then, but David can see a slight smile tugging at the corners of Patrick’s mouth. “I like it,” he finally says. “It’s just pretentious enough.”

“Would we call that pretentious?” David asks, thrilled to have found the natural, easy rhythm of bantering with Patrick again. “Or timeless?”

Patrick doesn’t answer though because he’s pulling into the driveway of a two-story white Colonial house with blue shutters. He shuts off the car and bounds out of the driver’s seat to unload David’s bags before David has even unbuckled his seatbelt. And just like that, he’s being pushed through the front door. The house is charming in a lived-in kind of way. It looks exactly like the kind of home that would produce someone like Patrick Brewer, clean and tidy and warm. Classic.

"Patrick, is that you?" a voice calls from somewhere nearby and then a woman appears who can only be Patrick's mother. She's so soft and gentle like the very image of what David has always thought a mother should look like and David loves her already. He also desperately wants her to like him, especially if he says what he wants to say to Patrick and Patrick does what he hopes Patrick will do in response. 

"Oh, David!" Marcy exhales, flinging a blue and white checkered dish towel across her shoulder and gathering him into her arms. "I am so glad to finally meet you!" 

David realizes immediately that her soft edges and short stature are deceptive; despite having to scrunch down to fit into Marcy's arms, she has David in a death grip. He couldn't escape even if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to. And just like that, David Rose has been added to the list of People Marcy Brewer Loves. 

When they pull away, Marcy dabs at her eyes with the dish towel. "Patrick has told us so much about you. He hated New York until he met you and then he almost didn't want to come back to Canada." David looks over Marcy's mom haircut and meets Patrick's eyes in surprise. Patrick never said anything about that to him.

"And who knows what would have happened then!” Marcy laughs airily, as if that isn’t the question that haunts David every night and day. 

"Come on, David," Patrick re-secures his tight grip on David's suitcases. "Let me show you to your room." He shoulders past his mom without a backward glance and David can only shrug his shoulders at Marcy and follow Patrick up the stairs. 

Yet Marcy’s words linger in the air and beat their way into David’s chest and heart with every step. There’s another question to add to the growing pile. Did Patrick almost stay in New York for him? And if so, why did he still decide to go?

***

Patrick ushers David in the guest room and hefts David’s overpacked suitcases onto the bed with a grunt. At least the suitcases hide the abominable comforter, which is somehow both plaid and floral. 

“So I’m just across the hall if you need anything,” Patrick points in the direction of the door and David turns around, startled from unzipping his suitcase. 

“You’re staying here too? I thought you’d be with Rachel...somewhere.”

Patrick laughs, just a little. “No. No, Rachel wanted to do it the old-fashioned way and not stay with each other before the wedding. So she’s at her parents’ house with her two sisters and I’m staying here. It’s been nice, actually. To have some time apart."

“Nice?”

It’s strange when David thinks about how little time he’s actually physically spent with Patrick over the course of their friendship. There was the year in New York, but they didn’t see each other frequently. The “best” addition to “friend” only happened after they moved away from each other, forged through flurries of text exchanges and long meandering phone conversations late into the night. And yet, David knows Patrick intuitively, can read his facial expressions like an open book. And right now, it looks strained under the weight of everything: a wedding, a marriage, a life bound to someone else.

“You’re allowed to be nervous, Patrick. No one would fault you for having second thoughts. About the wedding."

Patrick barks out a shaky laugh like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Who said anything about second thoughts?" Patrick glances at the door, like he can't wait to escape. "The bathroom's down the hall. Dinner will be ready soon. Mom’s making spaghetti and meatballs."

“Really?” David’s stomach grumbles in delighted anticipation. He loves spaghetti and meatballs. Patrick knows this. And not just because David may have accidentally lost control of one of his meatballs at Del Posto’s back in New York due to some unfortunately emphatic gesticulating with a loaded fork in his hand. The meatball may have possibly landed on Patrick. And he may have also ruined one of Patrick’s many blue shirts in the process. 

“Yeah. Guess it’s a good thing you never wear white. No stains from rogue meatballs.”

“Hey,” David says, a tad defensive. “I bought you a new shirt. And I wear white. Sometimes.”

“Sure you do,” Patrick responds. “So colorful, your wardrobe. Anyway, you should unpack. I’ll go pester mom about when dinner will be ready.”

“Thanks, Patrick.” David turns to hang up his garment bag containing his Burberry suit in the closet, but pauses and calls out Patrick’s name before Patrick can slip completely through the door. He’s halfway out, just a head and his upper torso poking through, an expectant look on his face. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

Patrick swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know. But I’m here if you want to talk. About anything. We can talk whenever you want.”

“Taking those best man duties pretty seriously, aren’t you?” Patrick tries to laugh it off, make a joke of it, deflect attention off himself. David recognizes it for the defense mechanism it is. He’s a master at it, after all. 

“Patrick.”

“Yeah, David. I’m okay.”

David nods just once and whispers, “Okay.”

Patrick gives a small half smile and then he’s gone. He gives all of himself to others and holds nothing back for himself. David wonders what it would look like if Patrick were a little more selfish once in awhile. Maybe he wouldn't look so disheartened. Maybe his smile would reach into his eyes again like it used to, like it did when they kissed in the gallery on a warm summer night all those years ago.

***

The agenda for the next day is the final fittings for Rachel's dress and Patrick's tux— _David brought his own, thank you very much_ —and Patrick's bachelor party. David is looking forward to exactly none of it. 

Well, the dressing up Patrick part isn’t so bad. David regrets never inventing a reason for Patrick to wear a tux before when he had the money and resources to make people do what he wanted on a whim. 

Patrick is adjusting his cufflinks when David blurts out the words that have been banging against his skull incessantly for the last two days, the last two years.

“Do you ever think about that night?”

“What night?” Patrick asks as he flings the short length of a bow tie around his neck and attempts to knot it with uncoordinated fingers, his eyes nearly crossing in his attempt to see what he’s doing. 

“Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing. Here, let me help you with that.” 

Rachel wants Patrick to wear a black tux for their wedding. It’s traditional, of course, but if anyone had asked David—which they did not—he would have told them that Patrick would pop best in a blue suit, regular tie. And if they had asked—which they did not—he would have said that Patrick, who always seems so buttoned-up even when he’s not wearing anything with buttons, looks best when slightly undone and that a fusty church wedding like the one Rachel was planning was not where Patrick would prefer to get married. David wonders if anyone has actually asked Patrick what he wants. 

“What night?” Patrick persists. David’s mouth compresses into a straight line in concentration as he knots Patrick’s bow tie.

“I told you it’s nothing. It was a long time ago. We were both probably a little drunk.”

Patrick stares at David steadily, eyes ablaze. Probably from excitement. After all, he’s getting married in two days. That’s exciting, or so David’s been told. 

“All done.” David says, bow tie expertly knotted in place, as he slowly removes his hands from Patrick’s flushed neck and steps back. 

Patrick turns to look at himself in the full-length mirror. His face is inscrutable, but his eyes look almost pained, as if the bow tie is cutting off necessary blood flow and oxygen to his extremities. But David knows years of galas and fundraisers to save the spotted peonies or whatever have perfected his bow-tying skills. He knotted it just perfectly, not too tight, not too loose. 

A handy skill for his current role as supportive best man.

David leaves the room and calls in Marcy and Rachel who come in to coo about how good Patrick looks in his tux—and he does, he really does—and tell him emphatically that this is the perfect suit for him. David notices that still no one asks Patrick what he thinks.

*** 

Later that night, when David is trying on outfit options for the bachelor party, there’s a soft knock on his door. He’s between sweaters, so when he opens the door he’s wearing only a black T-shirt and ripped black jeans. Thankfully, it’s just Patrick who is dressed a little more casually than usual in a light blue sweater. 

“It’s not time to go yet, is it?” David asks cantankerously, standing aside so Patrick can come into the room. He could have sworn Patrick said he’d have at least another hour before they left. If only he had packed one of his white sweaters he could shove that in Patrick’s face right now. He does, too, wear white. Sometimes. 

“No, no. We’ve still got time,” Patrick says, gently pushing a sweater aside so he can sit on the bed. But Patrick stops and fingers the sweater with a slight chuckle and then holds it up at the shoulders. “Why, David. I never knew you liked baseball so much.” The sweater's not black, at least, but a grey cotton crewneck with a skull peering through the stitching of what apparently—David is now realizing—must be a baseball. 

David feels his heart flutter like a trapped moth in his chest. “I certainly didn’t buy that sweater because of the ball.” David clears his throat. “That’s Givenchy.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, staring at the sweater with a fond look. “That makes a lot more sense then.” But David sees that Patrick smiles to himself, their little secret inside joke.

Patrick passes David the sweater with careful hands and their fingers brush across each other during the exchange. David hadn’t seriously considered the Givenchy sweater for their outing before, but now he slides it over his head, cautiously avoiding any disturbance to his hair. The sweater feels warmer, somehow, for having passed through Patrick’s hands. 

“Did you need something, Patrick?”

David can’t keep the tiny buzz of excitement out of his stomach when he asks. Maybe Patrick has finally come to talk to him, to confess his feelings for David, to discuss how to call off the wedding. But the feeling fizzles as soon as Patrick pulls a black velvet box out of his jacket pocket. 

“It’s been brought to my attention by certain people that I carry too much in my pockets and a groom shouldn’t have bulging pants at his wedding. So I need you to perform one of your best man duties and hold onto this for me during the ceremony.” Patrick holds the box out to David. 

David approaches cautiously and plucks it out of Patrick’s hand with a wince, feeling the velvet crush and flatten underneath his fingers. He steps back and opens the box and its hinges creak with disuse. Inside is just a plain gold band, thin and delicate and small, much like the woman who will soon wear it. It wouldn’t even fit on David’s pinkie. He’ll probably try it on later just to be sure. He won’t be able to stop himself. 

“It was my grandmother’s,” Patrick says though David didn’t ask. “I had the diamond re-set for Rachel’s engagement ring, but the band didn’t even need to be resized. I did just have it professionally cleaned though.”

“That’s nice. Rachel’s something borrowed, new, and old all rolled into one, huh?” David shuts the box with a muted click.

Patrick’s mouth turns down with a _hmph_. “I didn’t even think of that. What’s her something blue then?”

“You, I would think.” David says, trying to keep the affection out of his voice. 

Patrick smiles at that, a soft, fond thing. 

“I’ll take good care of this, Patrick,” David promises. He sets the box on top of the dresser next to the small ceramic dish where he’s been storing his accessories. David reaches for his own silver rings and starts to slide them onto his right hand, two rings each on his ring and index fingers.

“I’ve never asked you about your rings,” Patrick says, pointing at David’s hand. “I used to try to guess if there was some sort of rhyme or reason to why you wore them in different configurations, but I never did figure it out.”

David opens his hand, palm down, and looks at the wide silver bands. He’s had them so long and wears them so frequently, they feel like an extension of himself. He rarely goes without them and he hardly notices that they're there sometimes.

“Oh,” David says, straightening the rings so they look just right. “I got roped into going to a Buddhist retreat at the Dalai Lama Monastery in Dharamshala with Kate Hudson and Orlando Bloom to ‘find myself’ a few years back. They made it sound like it was going to be a week of spa treatments and pampering, but it was really just a lot of sitting on the ground and humming.”

“Sounds rough,” Patrick laughs. 

“Aside from having to sit cross-legged eight hours a day, it wasn’t so bad actually. Dharamshala is right on the edge of the Himalayas and it’s absolutely stunning. Maybe even better than the Swiss Alps.” David smiles at the memory of the soaring mountains edged with forests of evergreen trees and brightly colored buildings clinging to the cliffs. “On one of our last days, we went into the town and there was this big open air market with all these local artisans and craftsmen. There was this ancient-looking man selling jewelry in one tiny booth and, I don’t know, these just caught my eye.”

“And you had to buy them all?”

“They came as a set. Four is an important number in Buddhism, you know. The four elements, the four noble truths, the four stages of enlightenment. They’ve come to mean something else to me, though.”

“What do they mean to you now?” Patrick asks with a raised eyebrow. 

David looks at his hand again. “Four rings, four Roses. One for each member of my family.” He’s never told anyone that before and it makes him feel itchy to be so exposed.

“Oh,” Patrick looks unbearably touched by David’s admission. “I never would have thought you’d be so sentimental, David.” 

“Well, it’s a new development. I would never admit it to my family, but we’ve learned how to almost tolerate each other since moving to Schitt’s Creek.”

Patrick looks at David’s hand filled with rings and meaning. It almost seems like he’s going to reach out and take it in his, but he stops himself. “It makes for a full hand, though. Would you ever make room for more?”

David looks up at Patrick now and there’s a question underneath the question. What answer is Patrick hoping to hear? David decides, in the end, to give him the straight truth for once. 

“Yes, Patrick. There’s always room for more.” 

***

Patrick is drunk. Alarmingly, charmingly, adorably drunk. David doesn’t know that he’s ever really experienced completely drunk Patrick before. Most of their drinking was social but contained; a glass of wine, a shot of whiskey, a flute of champagne. If David had known that Patrick is excessively cuddly and delightfully rosy when inebriated, well, David would have plied him with a lot more alcohol when he had the chance. 

This is ostensibly Patrick’s bachelor party, and he did tell David that he didn’t want anything over the top, just beers with his boys at their bar. He actually said that. Unironically. David thinks it’s cute in a sad, alliterative way even though he thinks it’s a pretty dismal excuse for a party to celebrate Patrick’s last night as an unmarried man.

In his former life, David could have flown Patrick and all his groomsmen to Vegas for a raucous weekend of drinking, gambling, and strip clubs without batting an eye. He could have rented them a yacht and set sail across Lake Ontario for an evening of elegant cocktails or arranged an epic pub crawl in New York City. Instead, they’re at a sticky dive bar in Patrick’s hometown surrounded by a few of his friends—mostly his male cousins—with an increasingly tone deaf karaoke contest assaulting their ears in the background. 

Most of Patrick’s cousins—David can’t remember any of their names except Ben and Nick, Patrick's two other groomsmen—have moved into a separate room to play darts or pool or something while one poor cousin is attempting a truly terrible rendition of Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” on the stage. ( _And wow, could that song choice be more on the nose?)_ So it’s just Patrick and David sitting in a rounded booth, squeezed close together as if the booth is still full of other people. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Patrick whisper yells into David’s ear, body tilting imperceptibly closer to David’s. “Did you know that?” 

“Well, I do now.” David says with a barely concealed smile. He’s had a lot of drunk boys tell him that over the years. He’s learned not to get his hopes up about it though. “Rachel is very pretty too.” 

Patrick snorts and looks away. “Yeah,” he says. One corner of his mouth lifts up as he looks back to David. “Yeah, I guess she is. That's what everyone tells me.” 

“You don’t think so?” David’s brow scrunches a bit even though he meant to play it off as a joke. 

“There’s a difference between cute and beautiful. Rachel’s cute. She’s not you though.” 

Patrick blinks at David, that slow blink he does sometimes where one eye is just a bit lazier than the other, just a half second behind in opening back up. No one blinks like Patrick. No one is like Patrick. No one is also as drunk as Patrick right now.

“Cute is a weird word. Why doesn’t it start with a ‘Q’? English makes no sense. It makes my tongue feel weird.” Patrick looks down at his hands and stares at them as if he’s never seen them before either. David hears him softly whisper “cute” to himself a few times, trying to wrap his tongue around the sound of it and work the word out of his system.

“Let’s get some water in you, shall we?” David says, inching Patrick’s beer glass away and wrapping Patrick’s fingers around a glass of sweating water. Patrick takes a long drink, and David watches it disappear down the elegant long length of his stretched throat. David swallows hard, his mouth completely dry. He knows taking his own sip of water won’t wash away the lump in his aching throat. 

Patrick looks at David now and his eyes are clear and focused in a way they shouldn’t be given how much alcohol content is currently inside of him. 

“You know, I think about that night all the time.” 

"What night?"

“The night you asked about this morning. When I...you...when we kissed at the art gallery. Before.”

“That was a long time ago, Patrick.” David says because 'before' encompasses too much, hurts too much. Before Patrick left for his dream job, before David lost everything, before Schitt’s Creek, before the return of Rachel. Before Patrick’s wedding which is happening in less than 48 hours. 

"It was the best kiss of my life,” Patrick declares and the words are like a knife twisting in David’s heart. 

“It was the best kiss of my life too,” David admits even though this truth could cost him more than he can afford to lose.

Patrick leans in like he’s going to kiss David and David wants that so, so much but Patrick’s drunk and David doesn’t want to be the thing that Patrick regrets in the morning. Not when there’s a very good chance he may not remember this conversation tomorrow. 

David stops Patrick with one soft hand on his shoulder. “We can’t, Patrick."

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you’re getting married in two days. Besides you left. After the kiss, you left.”

“Because of a job. Not just any job, my dream job,” Patrick insists. His words are finally starting to slur together. “I wanted to stay, but everyone told me I’d be crazy not to take the job. It was the hardest decision of my life.” Patrick sighs and leans his head against the red vinyl booth.

“I know, Patrick. It’s okay. Maybe it’s better this way.” David shrugs to indicate that it’s no big deal. But his shoulders feel like boulders and the effort hurts. 

“Huh.” Patrick lifts his head back up and grunts. “For who, David? Better this way for who?”

Patrick reaches around his water glass to pick up his half-full beer glass and quickly drains the remaining liquid. Whatever sobriety Patrick may have been hanging onto disappears into the bottom of his pint glass and when he turns back to David, his eyes are glassy and red. He looks terrible. He looks exactly how David feels. David’s throat still burns with the effort to breathe. 

“Right,” Patrick says, slapping the table with open palms and the glasses littered across the table jump in surprise. “I’m gonna go sing something.” 

Patrick is still surprisingly agile as he slides out of the booth and climbs onto the stage. He paws through the slimy pages of the karaoke book before selecting his song. As soon as David hears the opening notes, his stomach bottoms out. He grips the edge of the table— _oh, he’s going to need so much hand sanitizer after this_ —and steels himself for what’s to come. 

Patrick has chosen “I Will Always Love You,” the Dolly Parton version, not the Whitney Houston one. David feels certain he would never have survived Patrick singing the Whitney version and he’s grateful for small mercies. Dolly’s slower version is a better fit for Patrick’s more folksy voice anyway. 

David knew that Patrick sang in the all-boys choir at his high school and won the lead role in the school musical. He’s heard him sing along to the radio and hum around the gallery, but he’s never heard Patrick belt something out and he never, never knew that Patrick’s voice, even when totally, completely drunk, is clear and strong and pure. His cousins emerge from the back room at the sound of Patrick’s voice to cheer and whoop and holler at him in encouragement. 

But Patrick doesn’t acknowledge any of them. He is singing to an audience of one. He looks right into David’s eyes and sings his good-bye I-love-yous straight into David’s shattered heart. 


	3. They Don't Love You Like I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is titled after only one of the best post-punk love songs ever, [the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Maps."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIIxlgcuQRU&list=RDDBr5FPIL8UU&index=2) If you've never heard Teo Leo's cover of both "Since U Been Gone" and "Maps," please do yourself a favor and [take a listen now.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBr5FPIL8UU&list=RDDBr5FPIL8UU&start_radio=1) It's the perfect blend of the last two chapters, after all. Thanks to this_is_not_nothing for a last minute save when I couldn't figure out what to do with a line.
> 
> Finally, a TRIGGER WARNING: I added the tags to the fic, but I wanted to be sure to point out that this chapter includes one brief allusion to miscarriage/infertility. Please jump down to the notes at the end of the chapter if you'd like to skip this section. I'll give you the details there if you want to avoid any mentions of this topic.

The next morning, David and Patrick sit at the small round table in the Brewers’ kitchen, both staring bleary-eyed into cups of untouched black coffee, a plate of dry toast between them. David, at least, had the presence of mind last night to take an Advil and drink a tall glass of water while stress eating two blueberry bagels he found in Mrs. Brewer’s bread box. They were not up to his exceptionally high bagel standards, but extensive hangover experience has convinced David that carbs are the best remedy, so he was willing to make some sacrifices. His insides still feel like they went through a garbage disposal, but David doesn’t think that can be blamed solely on the alcohol. 

Patrick has said very little. Or actually, nothing at all that wasn’t a non-verbal grunt. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips are dry and chapped. His bronze hair is flat on one side but sticking up on the other. His pale skin is paler than usual which means he’s halfway to becoming a ghost by now. 

David is too afraid to ask Patrick how much he remembers about the night before. He hopes very little. And yet, David can’t help but wonder if some of the things Patrick said last night were true. What if Patrick did still think about that kiss? And what if Patrick did want to kiss him again? 

Clint strolls into the kitchen then, humming quietly under his breath. Humming is a Brewer family trait, David has discovered. They each do it, but if you point it out to them or ask what song they’re singing, they look perplexed. The music just seems to be in them and has to find a way out regardless of whether they’re aware of it or not, it seems. David should hate it, but he does not. 

Clint pours himself coffee into a mug that says “I am your father” underneath a picture of Darth Vader. The mug is halfway to his mouth when he says, “Looks like the bachelor party was a success.”

Patrick gives a grunt of acquiescence and rips into one of the pieces of toast with a voracious bite. Clint shakes his head knowingly and reaches into the cupboards for a clear glass and a bottle of Alka-Seltzer. He drops a tablet into the tumbler, fills it with water, and sets it in front of Patrick. 

“Son, you look terrible. Drink that and with a little luck, you’ll have regained the power of speech before the rehearsal dinner tonight.” 

Patrick’s next grunt is somehow full of both annoyance and gratitude, but he dutifully drains the mixture with a wince. Clint meets David’s eyes and gives him a conspiratorial wink before he leaves with his cup of coffee and the morning newspaper. David feels somehow that he’s been granted rare admission into the Brewer Family Club. It probably comes with a complicated secret handshake, corny inside jokes, and a penchant for wearing matching T-shirts at theme parks that David wouldn’t be caught dead in (the theme park or the shirt). 

But that doesn’t stop it from being the first team David’s ever desperately wanted to join. 

***

David’s never actually been in a wedding party before, just a frequent guest, so he doesn’t really know what to expect from the rehearsal dinner. But after a brief walk-through of the ceremony at the church, they head to what passes for a fine dining establishment—probably the _only_ restaurant that passes for fine dining in Elm Grove—and discover that the whole room is already full of Patrick and Rachel’s closest friends and family. Practically the whole town has been invited to the wedding tomorrow. This wedding, it would seem, is a Very Big Deal. 

Patrick rebounded much quicker from his hangover than David anticipated. He looks unconscionably clean and handsome in his suit and tie though David can’t help but miss the way he looked this morning with his hair all wrecked and wild and his face lined with pillow marks. No traces of that Patrick remain, though, and present Patrick is making easy small talk and smiling effortlessly at those who come up to congratulate him. 

These people love Patrick, David thinks with a stab of jealousy, a whole room full of people who showed up just for him and Rachel. And yet it seems to David that they have a habitual problem of getting it all completely wrong. The problem is, Patrick makes it so easy to not realize he doesn’t want overcooked seafood served at his rehearsal dinner at some low-lit fancy restaurant. But in the car on the way over, Patrick had confided to David that he would have much preferred a casual barbecue in his parents’ backyard. 

Instead, David is now seated at a round table with the increasingly flirty maid of honor— _did she say her name was Karli with a K?_ —two of Patrick’s cousins and groomsmen, Ben and Nick, who he can finally tell apart, and Rachel’s two younger sisters, Amanda and Jessica. David is wishing he was eating the cheeseburger of Patrick’s dream barbecue rather than this hockey puck of a crab cake when Rachel’s father stands to address the room. Oh shit. They’re doing toasts. Rachel’s mom and Karli also give speeches and then Clint and Marcy both stand up to talk about how proud they are of their son— _obviously_ —and then they turn to look at David expectantly.

David tries to swallow the asparagus currently in his mouth and it goes down hard and lumpy. When he looks up, Patrick is staring at him with sparkling eyes, a tiny smile fluttering at the corners of his mouth like he can’t wait to hear what David is going to say. 

David can’t wait to hear what comes out of his own mouth too.

He rises awkwardly to his feet, chair skittering on the grooves of the tiled floor, balancing his champagne flute in one hand. “Great. A toast. Here I go then.” David never read the best man handbook, so he didn’t realize that he’d be giving a speech here at the rehearsal dinner too. He’d written down a short, sweet, and perfunctory toast for the wedding itself but he can’t use that now because then he won’t have anything to say tomorrow night. Oh fuck. Patrick will be married at this time tomorrow.

The rehearsal is a smaller affair, so it can be more personal, more true. Karli had blubbered her way through a teary tribute to Rachel and their shared love of Teddy Ruxpin in the second grade. David still doesn’t understand how that had anything to do with this wedding, but there was more than one person who wiped away tears, so what does David know? He’s never excelled at genuine human emotions. He also didn’t get that handbook. 

David looks around the room, at a sea of faces who know each other but don’t know him. He can hardly remember any of their names, so what does it matter if he embarrases himself right now? Just as long as he doesn’t embarrass Patrick, he guesses it’s okay. Marcy is looking at David with an encouraging smile. At least he’s got one person on his side. 

“Hello. Hi. I’m David Rose, the best man.” As he clears his throat, he risks another glance at Patrick, whose face is set with an easy, practiced smile but whose eyes are brown and blazing. God, how is David even going to say half of what he’s feeling right now when Patrick’s face and eyes and mouth look like that? 

“Honestly, I have no idea why I’m standing here now. I’ve probably known Patrick the shortest amount of time compared to everyone else in this room.” That gets a sprinkling of laughter—true things are always the funniest, David’s discovered. 

He swallows thickly. _Just say something, David_. He can’t do this. In what universe does David Rose get to stand up here and claim the title of Patrick Brewer’s best friend? David resists the urge to drain the rest of his champagne before he’s even finished his toast. 

“I met Patrick three years ago when he was hired to help with the finances at my art gallery in New York City. I don’t think he liked me much when we first met.” Even more laughter. Of course. That’s the most believable thing David’s said all night. “I know for a fact that I didn’t like him because he was overly confident and unnecessarily sassy about my lack of spreadsheet knowledge.”

David can see Patrick laughing at that and it makes him feel a little bolder.

“But that was just at first. Because Patrick wore me down. Or I wore him down. I haven’t figured it out. All I know is that somewhere along the way, we became friends. And even when he abandoned me to move back to Canada, he didn’t abandon our friendship. In fact, we became better friends. Even when I lost…” David pauses just for a second, “...when my family lost everything, Patrick was always there when I needed him.” 

“See, that’s the best thing about Patrick,” David continues, picking up steam now. “He pays attention. He remembers your favorite artist and the sound of your voice when you wear your favorite designer and he knows the right things to say when you’ve had a bad day. He’s steady and constant and loyal, and now that I say it out loud it sounds like I’m describing a golden retriever, but I swear these are all meant to be compliments. Clearly, I should have practiced this.”

Rachel is leaning in toward Patrick, her laughter spilling over like bubbly champagne and her face is lit like a chandelier because David is saying all these lovely things about her future husband. She knows she caught a good one. She’s proud of who Patrick is. David knows exactly how she feels. Patrick doesn’t even seem to notice Rachel shining by his side; he’s too focused on David. The smile on his face is soft and fond, but also somehow embarrassed, a little sad, a little hesitant. Is he waiting for David to mess this up? Is he waiting for David to say something he can't take back? 

David carries on. He can’t stop rambling now that he’s started. He needs to be about ten times more drunk than he currently is. The sooner he shuts up and sits down, the sooner he can get to that. So he goes on. 

“But Patrick can still be a pain in your ass because teasing is apparently his favorite form of communication and he honestly believes that writing Excel macros makes him some sort of wizard. Oh, and he also doesn’t know how to properly wear a hat even though I’ve explained it to him multiple times. Sorry, Rachel. I really did try on that one.”

That gets the biggest laugh yet. David takes one final ragged breath and concludes. 

“But mostly, Patrick makes it seem easy, you know, to be good. To be nice. He’s a nice person. The best person I know. The best man. And I will forever be grateful that Patrick Brewer came into my life all those years ago and that I get to stand here with all of you today to wish him the best life possible. So cheers to Patrick ...and Rachel.” 

David raises his glass along with everyone else, but when he looks into his flute fizzing with golden champagne, he finds he can’t bear the thought of drinking any of it. He wishes he were ten times more sober than he feels right now. 

He sinks back down into his chair with an inelegant thud and sets his glass far away from him. He waits a few heartbeats before he looks up and meets Patrick’s gaze across the table. Patrick looks...David doesn’t even know how Patrick looks. Like he’s touched. Like he’s awed. Like he’s going to cry. Patrick offers David a weak smile and nods his head just once, a sign of thanks and acknowledgement. 

David smiles weakly and nods back but looks away quickly. His throat is starting to close in on itself and something’s crawling through his tear ducts. He doesn’t know what to do except run. David makes it to the bathroom—thankfully a single occupant one with a sturdy looking lock—before he falls quietly and completely to pieces. 

***

When the rehearsal dinner is over, Clint and Marcy drive David back to their house. It’s not a long drive, but it feels never-ending to David. Clint and Marcy talk quietly the whole way home about how happy and beautiful Rachel looked and what a lovely evening it was. They direct a few questions toward David about his opinions on the food or decor, but mostly he just stares out the window seeing but not seeing the gleaming lights and cookie cutter neighborhood homes that flash past. They don’t talk about Patrick, strangely. 

David doesn’t ask where Patrick went or what he may be doing right now. Maybe he’s with Rachel. He’s almost certainly with Rachel. David doesn’t actually want to know the answer to that question so he doesn’t ask. 

As soon as they shuffle into the Brewers’ dark house, Clint disappears upstairs, saying he’s going to try to catch the last few minutes of the hockey playoffs. Marcy merely shakes her head with fond exasperation— _so that’s where Patrick learned it—_ and flicks on the light in the kitchen. She pokes her head out the kitchen doorway before David can make his own escape up the stairs. “Would you like to have a cup of tea with me, David?” Marcy asks. Her voice is so soft and her eyes so understanding that David agrees. He knows he could have said no and Marcy wouldn’t have minded, but David doesn’t want to say no to her. 

She sets her copper tea kettle over the blue flickering flames of the gas range. “Why don’t we both go change into something more comfortable while the water boils?” Marcy suggests and David nods just for the sake of having something to do. 

He changes into a pair of drop crotch sweatpants, T-shirt, and his most comfortable hoodie and Marcy returns in a baby blue quilted bathrobe with tiny flowers embroidered over her heart. It’s the most mom thing he’s ever seen in real life and he loves Marcy Brewer so much right now he wants to hug her. 

The kettle pouts out an angry puff of steam with an irritated whistle a few moments later and Marcy nimbly moves to pour the water into the waiting mugs. She sets David’s cup gently in front of him and joins him at the small round kitchen table. They sit in quiet companionship for some time, neither of them sipping their tea, just cupping the warmth between their hands and watching the steam rise and disappear into the still night air along with their unsaid thoughts. It’s not awkward though, David finds. It’s just...nice. His family is so uncomfortably loud sometimes. It’s nice to sit with someone else in peaceful quiet for once. 

Marcy finally clears her throat and breaks the silence. “Patrick told me you have a younger sister."

“I do,” David responds with an involuntary quirk of the mouth. “Alexis.”

“You two get along?”

David can’t help but laugh. “God, no. She’s the worst.” 

Marcy’s eyes sparkle in amused delight at that. She raises one eyebrow as if to encourage David to continue and it’s the same exact look Patrick gives him. He didn’t know how like his mother Patrick was before, but he does now. And it fills David with joy and belonging to know that. 

“When we were younger, Alexis was always getting into high stakes scrapes or hostage situations and I was always the one who had to go rescue her. She never once said thank you. For the last two years, we’ve shared a motel room with one bathroom and only one sink and her hair gets everywhere and she makes fun of everything I do and questions all my choices and has zero respect for my privacy.”

“Sounds awful,” Marcy says, struggling to keep a straight face. 

“It is.” David pauses, his face going on one of those epic journeys it likes to do without his prior consent. There are so many more stories he could tell Marcy about Alexis and the endless ways she continues to irritate him even though she’s no longer getting trapped in a sultan’s palace in Brunei. Instead, he decides to tell the awful truth. “I’d do anything for her, though.”

Marcy nods knowingly. “Patrick told me that too.”

David can’t help but smile into his mug. “Well.” He takes his first sip of tea. It’s delicious. He’s never really cared much for tea before, but Marcy Brewer’s tea just might convert him. 

“What is this?”

“Chrysanthemum tea, dear.” Marcy slides over a small pot. “Here, add a little honey. It makes it even better. I bet I have some cookies somewhere around here too.”

Marcy stands up and wanders through the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of the long lost cookies before returning with a small tin of Scottish shortbread. David helps himself to three without an ounce of shame. 

“I always wanted that for Patrick,” Marcy continues quietly, settling back into her chair, like she’s letting David in on a secret she’s never even told Patrick. “To have a brother or a sister. We tried for many years, but it never stuck. After Patrick, I…” Marcy’s mouth turns down in a soft frown. “Anyway. Your mother is very lucky. A son and a daughter.”

David doesn’t know if his mother counts herself lucky in that regard. He’s never been sure why his parents had children in the first place, given how little attention they gave them during their childhoods. Moira always seemed to consider them more like accessories than anything else, playthings to be trotted out when it served her purposes. Adelina was really the one who raised them. It’s different now, of course. David knows they love him, in their way, but it doesn’t erase a childhood of benevolent neglect. It doesn’t erase the pain of a woman like Marcy Brewer who gave her heart and soul into raising the one child she was given when her arms would have welcomed so many more. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Brewer.” And David actually really is.

“Please, call me Marcy, dear.” She smiles now, as if to reassure David that she means the endearment. “Clint and I both come from big families, so Patrick always had lots of cousins to run around with. You’ve met most of them now, so you know. I don’t think he was lonely or felt the lack of siblings, but. Well, a mother worries.”

David only nods and takes another sip of his golden tea. The house is so quiet and still, no sounds from Clint and the hockey game upstairs. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the slow tick of the analog clock on the wall. It’s in the shape of a chicken, which amuses David more than it appalls him. Such is the power of Marcy Brewer and her magical flower tea and the comforting quiet that slips around David’s shoulders like a warm blanket.

“I just wanted to thank you for saying those things you said tonight,” Marcy says, cutting through the spell, her fingers tightening around the curve of her mug. “About Patrick. You can’t know what it means to me to know that someone sees my sweet boy the way I do. You see him for all that he is.” 

David just nods. He’s too afraid he’ll cry again if he tries to say something. 

Marcy reaches for her mug now, swirling her spoon round and round. “I’d forgotten how much Patrick used to laugh. And then you came and I remembered. He doesn’t laugh like that with Rachel. Not anymore, anyway. Do you...do you think that’s a bad sign?” Marcy finally looks up and meets David’s eyes. She has doubts about this marriage too, David realizes for the first time. Maybe Marcy is on his side...or would be if she knew there were sides to be had. 

“I don’t know, Marcy.”

Marcy _mmms_ and then reaches across the table to grip David’s hand in her own. It’s soft and worn, small but still surprisingly strong. It feels nothing like Moira’s hand but that’s what he likes about it. David wants to press his other hand over hers and keep them rooted together for as long as he can. 

“I don’t know either.” Marcy purses her lips now and seems to be considering her words carefully, weighing whether or not she should trust David with them. When she does speak, she speaks slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ve wondered...sometimes, Patrick being an only child, that maybe he felt the weight of too much pressure or expectations. He’s always been hard on himself. But all I’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy. He knows that, right? That Clint and I just want him to be happy?”

“He knows, Marcy,” David whispers, squeezing her hand. “He knows.”

Marcy untangles her hands from David’s and wipes a tear away from her eye. “You’re a great friend, David. I’m so glad Patrick has you, my dear.”

David clears his throat. “I’m glad to have him too.”

***

Marcy doesn’t stay much longer after that, claiming that it’s late and she’s exhausted from the day’s events. She pats David on the shoulder as she leaves and gives him a knowing smile on her way out the door. An unexpected ally, David thinks. 

He makes sure the tin of cookies is securely closed, puts the empty mugs and spoons into the sink, and makes his way up the stairs to the guest room to get himself ready for bed. David does the long version of his skincare routine with care and precision. The mirror does not show him a particularly encouraging image but it’s not his big day tomorrow. No one’s going to be paying much attention to the best man. Still, he always wants to look his best. 

Moisturizer applied and teeth brushed, David tucks himself into the bed with a book as if he’s actually going to remember a single word he reads tonight. But then there’s a gentle, tentative knock on his door and the door slowly squeaks open and Patrick’s head slides in. David isn’t drunk but Patrick looks practically fuzzy around the edges, like he can’t quite bring him into focus. 

“Hey,” Patrick whispers. “I hoped you’d still be up.”

David exhales. “Yeah. Reading.” He holds up his book as if to prove that he’s not lying when he’s clearly lying. He couldn’t even tell Patrick what the title of the book is without having to look at it again. He hopes it’s not upside down. He’s too afraid to look though. 

“Can I come in?” Patrick asks and David thinks it’s cute that Patrick is still so polite, still thinks that David might refuse him anything he asked for. 

David smiles what he hopes appears to be a genuine smile. “Of course.”

Patrick comes fully into the room now, already clad in his striped blue pajama bottoms and white T-shirt, his hairline just a little mussed from washing his face. There's a small droplet of water still trickling down the side of his check, next to his sea shell of an ear. David can barely catch his breath before Patrick is climbing onto the bed. He stays on top of the covers. Which is good. Smart. David tugs the comforter up a little further, tangles his hands into his blanket so they won’t make the mistake of reaching out for Patrick. David waits for Patrick to say something. 

“So a golden retriever, huh?”

David laughs, unexpectedly disarmed by the easy way Patrick teases him, makes him know that everything is okay between them. 

“I might have panicked,” David says, head dipping lower into the bed in embarrassment. “I didn’t realize I’d have to say something tonight! I only prepared a brief but poignant toast for tomorrow night.” 

“Yeah, but a golden retriever?”

“Everyone likes golden retrievers,” David protests. “They’re very sweet and well-mannered. Always excited to see you.”

“What a ringing endorsement of my personality,” Patrick snorts. “I always thought of myself more like a collie actually.”

“Like Lassie?” David thinks a multi-colored collie like Lassie is a little too ostentatious to be like Patrick, all showy and loud and long-haired. Not at all like his carefully buttoned-up, well-contained friend. But if David fell down a well or got lost in the woods like Timmy did time and time again, he knows who he would call every single time. 

“No, not like Lassie. Lassie is a rough collie. I was thinking more like a border collie. They’re herding dogs, working dogs. Very intelligent, quick learners.”

David hmms under his breath and nods his head. He can see why Patrick likes the idea of being a dog like that. Fast and active and smart. Always with a job to do. Always with a purpose. “Border collies are...um...also generally black and white.” 

“So far more your aesthetic, huh?” Patrick asks playfully. 

“No, just an observation.” David shrugs his shoulders. No big deal. No big deal at all that Patrick wants to be a dog that would fit neatly next to David Rose. 

“What about you?” Patrick asks with a smile. “What kind of dog are you then?”

David thinks about it. He can’t say that he’s ever given it much thought before. He’s not much of an animal person after all. He bets Ted has thought all about it. Probably has a ranked list and bad puns to go with it. He doesn’t know a whole lot of dog breeds anyway...though he did have a brief but memorable fling with a dog trainer who was in town for the Westminster Dog Show that one winter. He had to throw one of his sweaters away, unfortunately; dog hair got everywhere and no amount of lint rolling could get rid of it all. 

“Me? I’m probably a corgi.” David finally says, trying to ignore the memories of being told he was a good boy every time he did what the dog trainer commanded him to do. 

“A corgi?” Patrick says incredulously but his smile is finally reaching his eyes. “With the short stubby legs and long bodies?”

“They are what the queen owns,” David says imperiously. “And I am definitely a royal breed of dog.” He also doesn’t say that they are known for being unusually stubborn dogs. It would just be more fodder for Patrick’s teasing. 

“Sure,” Patrick says with that insufferable sly grin of his. He’s doing just fine on his own without extra ammunition in his arsenal. “If you say so, David.”

“Well, what kind of dog do you think I am?” David asks. His hands have come out from under the sheets and flail in the air between them. 

“I don’t know, David. Maybe a Saint Bernard?”

“A Saint Bernard!” David cries. In what universe is he a monstrously large, dumb-looking dog?

“Yeah. They seem really intimidating at first because of their size, but underneath, they’re really just big old softies who are fiercely protective of those they love.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Patrick laughs as he bumps his shoulder against David’s. He clears his throat and threads his hands together, kneading at the pad of his thumb with callused fingers. David has seen Patrick do this before when he’s nervous or anxious or wants to say something he doesn’t know how to say. Nothing good has generally followed Patrick worrying his hands like that. “So...um..thank you for what you said tonight during your speech. You said some very nice things.”

Well, that’s not so bad then. 

“You’re welcome, Patrick.”

"Rachel thought so too.”

“Is that where you were? With Rachel?” David wishes almost immediately he could take back the question. 

“Yeah.” Patrick sighs, but it’s not a happy, contented sigh. More like a frustrated, it’s-been-a-long-night sigh. “Fighting about the same stuff as always.” Patrick smiles ruefully to himself. “Sorry. Not fighting, ‘discussing.’”

“And what were you ‘discussing’?” David asks. 

“Moving back here when Rachel’s residency is done,” Patrick replies. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved growing up here, but I don’t understand what’s so bad about living in Toronto. At least for a few more years.”

“I never understand the appeal of small towns,” David says with a barely concealed shudder.

Patrick gives him a knowing look. “Don’t you? I thought you were liking Schitt’s Creek now. Made some good friends or at least one good friend. And now you’re about to open a business there. It sounds to me like you’re settling down in a small town.”

“I don’t think this conversation was supposed to be about me though.” 

Patrick laughs guiltily. 

“So why don’t you want to move back here?” David gently prods. He’s in it now. 

Patrick sighs with a shrug. “I’d have to quit my job, for one.”

“Besides that,” David persists. “I know that’s not the main reason.”

Patrick tugs at his ear, considering. “I know practically every person in this town. And practically every person in this town knows me. Or they think they know me, but maybe that’s not who I am anymore. I guess I just liked the idea of being in a place where I could just be me and not the version of me everyone thinks they know.”

“That makes a lot of sense to me,” David says. He has noticed the subtle differences between the Patrick he first met in New York and the Elm Grove version of Patrick who seems a bit more subdued, a bit more restrained. “Have you explained that to Rachel?”

Patrick grunts. “Rachel might be the worst offender. We’ve known each other since we were kids chasing one another around the playground. She’s been one of my closest friends for more than half my life. It means she knows everything there is to know about me. She knows my most embarrassing moments and my greatest triumphs because she was there for them. But it also means that sometimes, when she looks at me, I think all she can see is 15-year-old me and not the me that’s standing in front of her.” 

David desperately wants to touch Patrick. Not in any romantic sort of way, though he’s brimming with love for Patrick right now—romantic, passionate love, yes, but also a tender, platonic love that only wants to provide comfort and consolation. He doesn’t trust himself though so he does nothing. 

“I wish I could be more like you, David,” Patrick says in a quiet voice, eyes trained on the hands clasped in his lap. “You’ve always seen so sure of who you are and you’re unapologetic about it. I always admired that about you.”

“There was less at stake for me,” David says. “I never had to worry about other people’s expectations or disappointing anyone by being any different than I was. My parents were never around and when they were, they hardly paid attention to me. It must have been nice to grow up so adored by so many people.”

“My mom adores you,” Patrick says. And now it seems like he’s the one offering comfort and consolation. 

David can’t help but smile. “We had a nice talk over some tea tonight actually,” David admits.

“I hope she gave you the good cookies,” Patrick says. 

“Oh, I always get the good cookies,” David replies.

“Good.” Patrick yawns now, loud and long, and his eyelids start to droop. “What did you two talk about?”

David shakes his head. “It’s been a long day. I promise to tell you later.”

Patrick scrubs a hand down his face and then meets David’s eyes. “Okay.”

David feels the weight of the conversation and the realities of tomorrow’s wedding pierce through him. He wants to close his eyes against the truths staring at him from those brown eyes. He scoots down under the covers and fits his head into the soft bowl of the pillow. Patrick follows suit, still on top of the covers, but turns onto his side to look at David so now they’re lying like crescent moons angled toward each other. 

Patrick smiles timidly at David. “I’m glad you agreed to be my best man, David.”

“Me too, Patrick.” And David is surprised to find that despite everything, that is still true. 

They say nothing more before they both drift off to sleep. 

***

The thing is Patrick has beautiful hands. It’s one of the first things David noticed about him, hovering over the keys of his laptop and moving with infuriating grace. It’s not like he’s imagined those hands all over him, pressing him into the bed or threading through his own fingers as they move together as one. But David has trained himself not to think of Patrick’s hands for what they could do to him but what they do for others. 

Which is why, when David wakes up alarmingly early to the dawn’s early glow the next morning, his heart starts thundering when he discovers that one) Patrick is still in bed with him and two) their hands are clutched together softly but resolutely. They must have fallen asleep while talking last night and at some point, Patrick must have just crawled under the covers of David’s bed rather than stumble through the dark hallway into his own. David doesn’t know when or how or why they’re now holding hands, but he doesn’t hate it. Not one little bit. 

David thinks he could be jealous of Rachel right now, could think about all the mornings she’s gotten to wake up to a beautiful, peaceful slumbering Patrick in her bed. He could hate her for the bright prospect of future mornings just like this or the fact that she gets to have him out in public and talk openly of her love for him. But David doesn’t think of any of those things. He only thinks that this soft reminder of flesh and bone is a gift. David can feel the synchronized beat of their hearts in the heel of their hands, clasped palm-to-palm like it’s the most natural place in the world for them to be. A smile tugs at the corners of David's mouth as he slips into unconsciousness again.

***

When David wakes again, for real this time, Patrick is gone. But the imprint of his head is deep in the pillow next to David’s and there's still a pocket of warmth beneath David’s hand where Patrick's used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: In the section where David and Marcy drink tea together, there is a brief allusion to miscarriage/infertility. If you'd like to avoid this, please stop reading at: _Marcy stands up and wanders through the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of the long lost cookies..._. It's safe to start reading again at _David only nods and takes another sip of his golden tea._ If you'd like to skip this entire section, here's the pertinent information: Marcy invites David to drink a cup of tea with her and she thanks David for the wonderful things he said about Patrick during his toast and then asks David if he thinks Patrick is happy.


	4. Run Away With Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from my current music obsession "Do You Feel It?" by Chaos Chaos. Please do yourself a favor and listen. 
> 
> Thank you all for such lovely comments and sticking with me through this angst-fest. Here's the [hopefully] happy ending I promised. 
> 
> A short coda from Patrick's POV will be posted Friday or Saturday.

David has exactly ten minutes before they’re supposed to head to the church. Thankfully, he’s already dressed and ready to go, his black Burberry suit perfectly tailored to his lean and elegant proportions. David is relieved it still fits. There’s no way he would have allowed a rented tux to touch his back. 

He oscillates for a minute, and then punches Stevie’s name on his screen and holds up his phone to his ear, hoping Stevie will actually pick up. He’s in distress and she should know that. She’s well aware the wedding is today. 

“David.” Stevie answers after only a few rings. “Shouldn’t you be at a wedding by now?”

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” David says quickly. He doesn’t have much time. The Brewers are punctual people.

“Need a last minute pep talk to make it down the aisle?” Stevie asks with her teasing deadpan delivery. “You can do it, David. You just put one foot in front of the other…”

“No, Stevie,” David interrupts. “Just listen. I can’t do it. I mean, I can walk down an aisle just fine, but I can’t keep quiet anymore. I know we agreed that I would come here and just be the supportive best man. And I’ve tried, Stevie. I really have tried, but I can’t…” He exhales a shuddering breath. “We slept together last night.”

“What?!” 

Well, David knew that would get Stevie’s attention. 

“Not like that. We didn’t _sleep_ sleep together. We were talking last night and I guess we both fell asleep in my bed.”

“David, that doesn’t mean anything,” Stevie says with careful words. “We’ve slept together in the same bed multiple times. Just as friends. It could have meant nothing to Patrick.”

“When I woke up this morning, we were holding hands.” David practically whispers it. 

“That….well, I don’t know what to say about that.”

“And he tried to kiss me at his bachelor party,” David continues. “He was completely drunk, though, so I didn’t let him. But Stevie, he’s not happy. Even his mother has noticed it. At the very least, I need to convince him to call off this wedding. He shouldn’t marry Rachel regardless.” 

“Are you going to tell him how you feel about him too?”

“I don’t know yet.” David exhales. “But I think so, yes. I think he deserves to know.”

“What if he says no to you? What if he still gets married anyway?”

“I know, Stevie. But what if he says yes?”

There’s a knock on the door. 

“I gotta go, Stevie. Wish me luck.”

“You’re an idiot, David Rose,” she says. And then, with real affection: “Good luck.”

David strides to the door but then he remembers the one job he was tasked with as best man—Rachel’s ring. He turns back and plucks the velvet box off the dresser and tucks it into the left inside pocket of his jacket right over his heart. 

***

Patrick and David are alone, groom and best man, in a small room set aside for their use. The larger room directly across from theirs is for the bride and David knows Rachel is in there right now being zippered into a gorgeously petite and lacy dress as a small army of bridesmaids and relatives fawn over her. But David and Patrick require no such entourage. Ben and Nick, Patrick’s groomsmen, have been sent on other errands. 

So if David is going to say something, it’s got to be now. 

David likes how easy it is not to say anything, how not opening your mouth is the default setting for most people. He’s never exactly managed it. Most of his life has consisted of him opening his mouth to express opinions no one asked for. But right now, keeping his mouth closed against the words trying to escape through his lips is exhausting, like trying to hold in a sneeze. 

David wonders what would he regret more. Not saying anything and watching Patrick marry someone else when David suspects the marriage won’t bring Patrick any lasting happiness? Or launching a grenade into their relationship by admitting his feelings and then having to slink home to a dingy motel and a potential failure of a business as he lets time fade the bright colors of his love through repeat washings? 

Something is at stake, no matter what course he takes. So which is more precious? Patrick’s happiness or their friendship? 

David has tried to avoid looking Patrick in the eyes since they arrived at the church in a vain attempt at self-preservation. He knows that if he looks too closely, he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. But now he looks. 

He looks and he looks and he sees. 

He sees Patrick in that beautiful but all wrong rented tux and he sees the wrinkles in Patrick’s shirt and the one shoelace that’s too long that he’s probably going to trip over. He sees that Patrick’s hair has gotten a little bit longer and is starting to curl at the very tips and he sees Patrick’s mouth is slightly turned down. But not because he’s wearing one of his upside down smiles but because his face is weary and his eyes are tired and he doesn’t look like a man on the happiest day of his life, and he hasn’t learned how to tie his bow tie. Still.

“You’re hopeless, you know.” 

Patrick looks up, startled, as if he’d forgotten that David was there. David points to Patrick’s tie, still hanging limping around Patrick’s neck. 

“The tie. Do you need me to help again?”

“Oh,” Patrick says and tries to laugh. There’s no ease to it. “Yes. Thanks, David.”

He tilts his neck up slightly at an angle and then stands perfectly still so David can knot the tie in place. David adjusts the bow then sweeps across Patrick’s shoulders and down his arms to straighten out his jacket, and fits everything into its right and proper place. 

Patrick is the perfect groom. 

More perfect if he were David’s. 

“Patrick.” David clears his throat and tries desperately not to wilt under Patrick’s gentle gaze. Why does Patrick have to give every single person his full and undivided attention whenever they speak to him? It’s a problem. “Look, this is probably really terrible timing. In fact, I know it is. But I think—no, I _know_ that I need to say some words to you. Um. Right now. Before you get married.”

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly but cautiously. David is not off to a great start. 

“Here’s the thing,” David tries again. “The thing is…I just wanted to say...you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to get married right now...if you don’t want to. Because you don’t seem like you want to.”

Nope. That wasn’t quite right, David thinks. He missed the most salient point: _Don’t marry Rachel because I’m in love with you and I think you may love me back_. 

Patrick says nothing. He gives a slow lidded blink so at least David knows he’s still alive. David can feel his chest rise and fall with each thumping heartbeat. Is Patrick’s heart so loud or is it David’s? He can’t tell. 

Patrick shakes his head incredulously. 

“You’re right. This is a really bad time to say something like that.”

David’s eyes burn but he’s had too much practice not crying in front of other people when his heart is breaking to start now. He knows he can survive a little bit longer. He did this to himself, after all. He’s always doing this to himself. 

Or so they tell him. 

But Patrick doesn’t look angry. He just looks so unbearably sad. 

“I love Rachel.”

“I know you do. But I don’t think you love her the way you’re supposed to love her. Not enough to marry her right now.”

“And what do you know about love?” Patrick asks. It would sound meaner, David knows, if there were any force behind it. But Patrick only sounds defeated, not bitter or mad.

“You’re right. Everything I know about love I’ve learned from watching rom-coms.”

Patrick exhales, loudly and wetly. But now that David has opened his mouth, the words just keep tumbling out. 

“But I do know that you haven’t seemed very excited about this whole wedding. You weren’t excited when you told me you were engaged and when you asked me to be your best man and you weren’t excited when we tried on tuxes or at the rehearsal dinner yesterday. I’m not sure about much, but I don’t think you should look so miserable at your own wedding.” 

Patrick chokes out a scoff and turns his back on David. He stands in front of the window that looks out over the church’s small walled garden. It’s a pretty little garden. It looks peaceful and serene, the kind of place you’d sit and commune with God. If you believed in that sort of thing. 

“There’s one more thing you should know,” David says to Patrick’s back. “Before you walk down that aisle and get married.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Patrick still doesn’t turn around, just keeps staring and staring out the window.

At least David doesn’t have to say it to Patrick’s face. A small, tender mercy perhaps. 

“I do know something about love. Because I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since New York. And I thought maybe you needed to know that.”

Patrick is very, very still. “You turned me down. At the bachelor party.” Patrick doesn’t turn around when he says this and his voice is so low David can barely hear him. 

So Patrick did remember.

“Well, you were drunk that night. Everybody wants me when they’re drunk. They think differently when they’re sober.”

Patrick turns at this. His eyes are a ruined pool of brown but there’s a light smile carving its way through his lips. “Always selling yourself short, David.” 

“I can’t help it sometimes,” David says with a shrug. 

“I didn’t say those things just because I was drunk.” Patrick clears his throat and swipes at his cheek with a flat hand. “But you’re too late, David. It’s too late.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. That’s what you said two nights ago. And now I’m getting married in ten minutes.”

“That still sounds like plenty of time to me.”

Patrick chokes on a laugh, resting his clenched fists on his hips like he’s readying for a fight. “This isn’t _My Best Friend’s Wedding,_ David _._ And you’re not Julia Roberts.”

David makes a face. “Ew. Of course not. Her character is awful in that movie and she didn’t get the guy in the end. I was sorta thinking you could be Julia Roberts this time.”

Patrick deflates a little at that. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sort of a _Runaway Bride..._ uh, groom situation.”

“God, David, we’re not living in a romantic comedy!” Patrick flails, the hurt and frustration and expectations drilling him further and further into the floor with their weight. “Am I just supposed to run out on my fiance, on my wedding, on my family just because you tell me I’m unhappy, that you finally admit you’re in love with me?”

“So you are unhappy.”

“I don’t know, David,” Patrick sighs. “I feel like I always feel.”

“You should feel more than that. Right now, I think you should feel more than that.”

“Maybe you’re right.” There’s a long pause, bracketed by the silence of the room around them. “I love Rachel,” Patrick repeats as if to convince himself. 

“I know.”

“And I want her to be happy.”

“I know you do. But don’t you deserve to be happy too?”

“David. You can’t just say things like this.”

“I’m sorry. We can...we can just pretend I never said any of this. And after the wedding, I’ll go. You won’t have to see or talk to me again...if that’s what you want.”

“David, you know that’s not what I want either.” Patrick looks like he’s being torn in two. David hates this part, the part where he has to put that look on Patrick’s face. But what else did expect? That Patrick would be relieved or elated by his declaration of love and immediately run away with him? 

“You asked what your mom and I talked about last night. She asked if you were happy. She wanted to know if you know that your parents just want you to be happy. No matter how or who you find happiness with.”

“She said that?”

“Yes.”

Patrick narrows his eyes at David just a smidge. “Like those actual words?”

“Maybe not the ‘who’ part. I possibly added that part. But she did say that you put too much pressure on yourself. And they love you, always, and just want the best for you.”

Patrick stares at David and he thinks he may be about to say something or do something, but then there’s a knock on the door and Clint walks in. 

“All ready, boys? It’s time.”

David merely looks at Patrick and raises one eyebrow. _Your choice._

Patrick nods his head. 

“Yes. We’re ready.”

And so they are. 

***

Patrick’s one request for the wedding ceremony was that he wanted to walk down the aisle flanked by both his parents rather than slink in through a side door to wait at the altar like some grooms did. He wanted his parents to play a bigger role in the wedding, because they deserved the spotlight just as much as Rachel’s parents. The fact that Rachel and Patrick had been friends for such a long time and grew up in a small town meant that there really was no difference between the groom’s side and the bride’s side. The chapel is packed with family members, but also old school friends, teachers, baseball coaches, music instructors, and choir directors. It’s a lot. 

It also means that now, right after David has declared his feelings, Patrick’s face is doing _things_ it probably shouldn’t be doing on his wedding day. And Patrick has to walk down the long aisle of the chapel with an audience of friends and family members who have known him his whole life, and pretend like everything’s fine, like he’s never been happier. David’s a good actor, but he’s not that good. He wonders how Patrick is still standing up. 

David feels like he’s having some sort of out-of-body experience as he walks down the aisle behind Patrick and takes his spot at Patrick’s side. There’s a lump the size of Manhattan in his throat and no amount of swallowing can dislodge it. David doesn’t dare look at Patrick right now even though they're side-by-side. David is Tantalus, doomed to see what his heart most desires but to always have it out of reach. 

The rest of the wedding party begin to make their agonizingly slow way down the aisle. The flower girl and ring bearer can’t seem to walk in a straight line and keep pausing to wave at anyone who distracts them. The bridesmaids are taking the smallest steps imaginable and the poor groomsmen keep shuffling their feet in an attempt to keep time with them. David thinks about all the ways he would do his wedding differently, if he ever were to have a wedding. Which seems unlikely now when the one person he could imagine marrying is about to marry someone else. 

And then there is Rachel looking like the Little Mermaid in an effortlessly beautiful ivory gown, her coppery hair hanging in alluring tendrils all around her face, carrying a bouquet of rustic greens and dainty white and blush-colored roses. She is goddamn Ariel about to marry her Prince Charming and David knows now he never stood a chance, not when Rachel is blazing like a candle, incandescent with joy, as she makes her way toward the love of her life. It isn’t her fault that by some cruel twist of fate that person happens to be the love of David’s life too. 

David knows this isn’t fair to him _or_ to Rachel, but nothing about David’s life has ever been fair. Not when he had been obscenely wealthy and not now that he is abominably poor. David should have just kept his mouth shut. Maybe then he could have gotten through this with a bit of his dignity still intact. 

But now there is nothing left to do but put on a stoic face and get on with it. David squares his shoulders and turns to face the officiant, regal in his flowing robes. David had been introduced to Pastor John at the rehearsal yesterday and learned that Patrick and Rachel had grown up attending this church all through their adolescent years. David doesn’t know why it disconcerts him to think of Patrick being an altar boy or listening to boring sermon after boring sermon as a kid, but Patrick doesn’t seem to find it unusual or problematic. David went to temple only enough to learn the lessons for his bar mitzvah, but he mainly did that for the party and not out of any sort of religious conviction. It’s just another item in the long list of things that Rachel and Patrick have in common that David does not. 

Pastor John begins the ceremony and David feels like there are caterpillars burrowing through his insides. He sucks in his lips, digs his nails into the palms of his hands, and stares unseeing at Patrick’s broad back.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Patrick Brewer and Rachel Miller as they proclaim their love and commitment to the world in front of their closest friends and family members. This has been a long time coming and I know I speak for more than myself when I say how thrilled we all are to be here today.”

The pastor is a man of graying hair, tall and thin, but with a gentle, kind face. He’s wearing a wedding ring on his left hand, so he must be one of those church people who can marry, David thinks. The officiant continues on and he is obviously affectionate toward Patrick and Rachel and speaks as if he knows them well, which he probably does. 

David wonders if there will be a part about anyone objecting to this marriage and “speaking now or forever holding your peace” or if that’s just a thing they say in movies. But no, apparently that is a thing they still say because the pastor is saying it right now and David is trying to breathe normally and keep his face neutral and not blurt out anything that would put a halt to this wedding—no matter how much David’s insides are screaming or how much is heart is flopping in his chest. 

The room is quiet when the pastor pauses for the requisite amount of time. It’s just a formality. No one expects someone to say anything but it feels oppressive anyway. So David just focuses on the wide stretch of Patrick’s shoulders. And really, it’s for the best. It’s better this way. 

But then Patrick turns around and looks at David. And David has to look back. 

And it’s not okay. 

Because Patrick’s eyes are a chasm of pain—fear and indecision and longing invading all his beautiful edges. There’s the faint remnant of a smile that seems to have been lodged onto his face and his muscles look taut and ready to spring. He’s Atlas burdened with the weight of the sky on his lone shoulders. 

David can see the moment when Patrick makes a decision. 

“Excuse me. Sorry. I just need to do one quick thing,” Patrick says and then he’s grabbing David by the cuff-linked wrist, and dragging him back down the aisle with him. 

So that’s unexpected. 

“So sorry. One minute, please,” Patrick says to the confused wedding guests as he barrels down the center aisle and David trips over his feet to keep up. David sees Marcy Brewer out of the corner of his eye and there is a small, but distinct smile on her face.

Patrick pulls David into the groom’s room and shuts the door behind them with a steely, resounding click and snaps the lock into place.

“Patrick, what’s—”

But David doesn’t get a chance to finish his question because Patrick is kissing him, urgently and with terrifying precision like he’s only got a minute to memorize the taste and feel of David’s lips on his own.

And David, well, David has died. He’s ascended. He resides on a different plane of existence right now because Patrick kisses like his whole heart is on fire. What he feels at this moment for Patrick is more than he ever realized he could feel for anyone. And David was wrong, he realizes, because it’s more than love what he feels for Patrick. It has to be.

And if this is all he gets, if this is all he’ll ever have to hold onto through long, lonely nights, then David wants to make it count. 

So he brings his hands up to cup Patrick’s face, so soft and sweet between his palms, and he gentles the kiss, working to slow Patrick’s heavy breaths and probing tongue with a slow sweep of his own. He tilts Patrick’s face into just the right position and writes his love into the creases of Patrick’s lips and maybe this, too, Patrick can take with him so he never wonders again what it feels like to kiss David Rose when he’s remembering a warm New York City night. Patrick moans against David’s mouth and sculpts his large and muscular hands around David’s stubbled jaw, fingers bracketed his face and tangling up into the hair behind David’s head. 

Patrick is the torch and David has been ignited. He wants to be consumed by this blaze. 

There’s a knock on the door, two short hesitant raps, and Patrick pulls away from David, chest heaving and breath rasping out in quick, sharp bursts like he’s winded after a long run. Their hands are still cupping each other’s faces like they can’t let go. 

“Patrick, dear,” Marcy calls through the door. “Is everything okay?”

Patrick swallows and blows out a choked, strangled laugh. His hand drops to his side while the other one sweeps to the back of his neck, stroking the mottled red skin now scorched by David’s touch. 

Patrick looks David right in the eyes as he answers: “Yeah, mom. Everything is okay.”

“You should get back out there,” David says softly, clasping his hands together so he doesn’t reach out for Patrick again. His mouth trembles, just one small aftershock, and he tries to blink away the tears that are starting to form on the edges of his eyes. 

“David,” Patrick’s voice is stripped down and raw, rough with emotion and David can see now that Patrick has tears in his eyes too. “I can’t do it.”

“I know. It’s okay. Your bride is waiting.”

“No, David. I can’t marry Rachel. Not after...not after that.”

“Oh,” David can’t really be more articulate than that right now. There are butterflies bursting out his chest. It feels awful and amazing all at once.

“I had to know. I had to know if kissing you felt like I remembered,” Patrick says quietly. “And I was wrong. Because it was better than I remembered. It’s never felt like that...when I kiss Rachel.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m dying and the only cure is to keep kissing you.”

“I know the feeling,” David replies with a wobbly smile. 

“What do we do now?” 

“We can climb out the window and make a run for it.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Patrick smiles and leans in to kiss David again like he can’t stop himself. “But it’s very tempting,” he says against David’s lips.

There’s another knock now and a voice, soft but pleading. Like the heart of the person attached to it has already broken. 

“Patrick. It’s Rachel.”

“And Pastor John,” comes another voice. David will be shocked if the whole wedding party and a few eager cousins aren’t also crowding around the door right now.

“What do you need from me?” David asks, taking Patrick’s hands in his own. 

“I need to talk to Rachel so I can tell her the wedding’s off.” Patrick gives David his own wobbly smile. “Do I still get to be the Julia Roberts in this scenario?”

“Well, that makes me Richard Gere so absolutely. You can be Julia just this once.”

David presses a soft kiss to Patrick’s cheek, to the corner of his mouth, across the bow of his tentative smile and squeezes his hand. Patrick squeezes back and holds David in his place before he can turn away from him. 

“David. I love you too.”

“I know, Patrick,” David murmurs. 

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“Well, you figured it out in the end.”

And Patrick did. He finally, finally did. 

***

David slips quietly out the door as Rachel, Patrick’s parents, and his childhood pastor invade the room. He thinks it’s best if he’s not there for this conversation. He’s not sure what Patrick is going to tell them—is he just going to apologize for not being able to marry Rachel or is he going to admit that he’s in love with David? David wouldn’t really blame him either way. These last ten minutes have been a rollercoaster and they’re both probably a little dizzy.

The wedding guests seem to be growing impatient and agitated in their pews, and David doesn’t want to be bombarded with their questions. He sneaks out the first door he sees and finds himself outside in the small walled garden. The flowers are just starting to bud and bloom. In a week or two, the whole garden will be a wall of color but right now, it merely holds the hint of more to come. David sits on a green wooden bench underneath an ornamental cherry tree and takes some cleansing breaths as the adrenaline he’s felt all morning finally fades away and he’s just left with himself and the faint scent of roses and cherry blossoms. 

It doesn’t take much longer before it appears that the wedding guests have been told the wedding’s not happening because they start to pour out the doors of the chapel. David can see them spilling into the street and congregating on the sidewalks over the stone garden wall. 

The building next door is the hall where the reception was supposed to take place. It’s already decorated and ready for a party that will never happen. David watches as the clumps of people outside the church break up and fade away until the street is empty. 

David has never been so relieved in all his life. 

David doesn’t know how long he sits in the garden before Patrick finds him, two haphazardly cut pieces of wedding cake on plastic plates balanced in his hands.

“Here. I brought you some cake. Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

Patrick smiles as he hands over the cake and then sits down in space next to David. He looks tired and drained, but the desperation in his eyes is gone. He seems calm and tranquil for the first time in days, probably years. 

“Thanks, Patrick. Wasted cake is always a tragedy.” David accepts the plate from Patrick and takes a bite. It’s surprisingly decent cake. He’ll have to try to steal more of it before they leave. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Patrick sighs and leans back, letting all the tension drop from his shoulders. “Not right now. Later, though.” Patrick takes a small bite of cake and smiles at David. “I did tell them that the reason why I couldn’t marry Rachel is because I’m in love with someone else.” 

Patrick hesitates just for a second before he drifts closer to David and presses a soft kiss onto his lips. David can taste the sugar crystals from the buttercream frosting on Patrick’s mouth and David licks his lips as soon as Patrick pulls away. It's the sweetest kiss of David's life.

When the cake is gone, David takes their plates and sets them aside. He drapes his arm across Patrick’s shoulders. And with no invitation or coaxing, Patrick fits himself into David’s side, resting his head on David’s chest, his hand tracing shapes across David’s knee. David can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. He could stay like this forever. Except now Patrick's shoulder is driving the ring box buried deep in David's pocket into his chest. 

He reaches into his jacket and takes out the box and hands it to Patrick. "You'll probably want this back now."

"Yeah," Patrick breathes out, taking the case with gentle fingers. He fidgets with it a bit before he opens it up and looks at the ring for a long, long moment. He shuts the box quietly and when he speaks again, he has just one unexpected question. “What were you going to say for your toast? You said you had practiced a toast for the reception.” 

David laughs and presses a kiss onto the top of Patrick’s head. “You sure you want to hear it?”

“Yes, David,” Patrick responds. “I want to hear all the things you have to say.”

David clears his throat. “We are all honored to gather here today to celebrate Patrick and Rachel’s commitment to one another. I wish you both a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams. To Patrick and Rachel.”

“Wow. Did you steal that from a Hallmark card?”

“Excuse you,” David says with a muffled laugh, arm squeezing tighter around Patrick’s shoulder. “I would never stoop so low as to steal from Hallmark. That line was written by pop goddess Tina Turner. I’ve always loved that song.”

Patrick laughs easily at that. How different he sounds now. “I liked your rehearsal dinner speech better. You know, the one where you called me a sassy pain in the ass and then compared me to a dog.”

“Okay, you know what? This has been a very emotional week and I was unprepared and….”

Patrick sits up now, turns his body to face David’s with that soft, earnest face of his. “David. Just kiss me.”

“Now?”

“Now would be preferred.”

“Well, at least I wasn’t wrong about the sassy part.”

But Patrick doesn’t get to showcase his snarky comeback because David kisses him thoroughly then and doesn’t stop. They kiss and kiss and kiss. When David finally pulls back, he inspects Patrick’s face for any signs of doubt or regret. But they’re not there. His face is just...happy. He just looks so damn happy. 

“So,” David starts and pauses, unsure. It feels hard, just now, to ask for more. But there are still words that need to be said. And yet, it feels not as scary as it once did to spill out the contents of his heart and let Patrick tunnel inside them for a bit. “I know there are a lot of decisions to be made. We can talk about all of them and we can take our time figuring it all out. I think it’s been a long time since you were asked, but what is it that you want, Patrick?” 

Patrick gazes into David’s eyes and doesn’t look away. Neither does David and so he is a witness to the slow spread of joy that travels across Patrick’s face and stretches his mouth into a smile so wide David could swim in it. His response is almost immediate.

“You.”

And, well, Patrick did always have a way with words. 


	5. A Visible Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the original season six promo song: "Love Like a Sunset: Part 2" by Phoenix. Where it starts it ends.

Patrick doesn’t know what he believes anymore but he’d grown up assuming there was a higher power in the universe pulling the strings somehow. Call it divine intervention, destiny, karma, or God, but Patrick figured someone somewhere knew the end from the beginning and the hands of fate were pushing him to some future happiness. God is in the details, Pastor John always used to say. And Patrick, who loved order and logic and solving puzzles, liked the idea that he could unravel the mysteries of the universe through careful observation of the minutiae of his life. 

And the details were these: the same week that he had experienced the best kiss of his life, the first kiss where he’d felt anything close to what you were supposed to feel, the same week he started to consider that he was more attracted to men—and one man in particular—was the same week that he got offered a job that would separate him from that particular man. Not just a job, _the_ job. His friends and parents convinced him he’d be a fool to turn it down and Patrick let himself believe it was the universe trying to right a wrong. _This thing and not that,_ it coaxed. 

When he ran into Rachel at a fast casual restaurant near her hospital in Toronto, it felt like destiny. When David got stranded with the Amish and never made it to the city, it was divine intervention. When Rachel suddenly got the time off from work so she could join him on his weekend trip to Schitt’s Creek, it was the hands of fate reminding Patrick of the way things needed to be. And so he let the universe drag him along, never once considering that he had a say in his destiny, that he could yearn for something different than what the gods seemed hellbent on handing him.

But now he sees how fate was working in other ways too. Like how the Rose Gallery account was originally assigned to a different consultant who broke their leg and needed weeks to recuperate so Patrick was given the assignment instead. Or how his friendship with David blossomed because of and not in spite of the distance between them. And how the people he loved best in all the world could see his discontent and were nudging him toward happiness rather than complacency all along. 

He remembers a sermon Pastor John once gave, one of the few that stuck with him as a teenager, on that verse from Matthew 5. _Be ye therefore perfect_ , the Bible commands, _even as your Father in Heaven is perfect._

“The Greek work is _teleios_ ,” Pastor John proclaimed in his booming voice, suddenly loudly quiet like he always seemed to get when moved by some unseen spiritual force. “ _Teleios_ is better translated as finished or complete. The goal is not perfection,” Pastor John explained to the congregation, “but to be fully developed, to reach a state of wholeness.” 

Patrick thinks about that now and then, how he never felt quite right in his own skin before, how he felt the wrongness even as he yearned for rightness. It wasn’t that he was purposefully ignoring a persistent nagging voice in his brain that whispered, _you like men._ He can’t remember either his parents or Pastor John ever saying a bad word against being gay or queer, but he was also never taught to see that as a viable choice and so he never did. It was as simple and as devastating as that. 

He doesn’t worry about it anymore, though. God doesn’t make mistakes. Pastor John also used to say that. Because it’s not a mistake to feel the way he feels about David, and it’s not a mistake to love a person in all the ways you can possibly love another person. It’s also not a mistake that he’s never been happier in his life. 

Patrick doesn’t look for signs anymore, doesn’t attempt to read the portents lurking in his tea leaves or try to discern the difference between God or his gut. He just lets it be and lets himself be who he was always meant to be. It seems like every atom has finally aligned itself into exactly its right molecular place and now, with David, Patrick is complete and whole. And it feels a little like perfection, after all. 

***

His parents were great about everything. Terrific, actually. In fact, his mother didn't seem terribly shocked or surprised when the wedding fell apart. She may have even been secretly glad. Patrick’s never asked for more details about the late night tea conversation David had with his mom, but whatever passed between them created an unwavering bond of mutual adoration.

“My two sweet boys,” Marcy likes to say, folding Patrick and David into her arms when they come to visit like she’s a mother hen counting her chicks. “How lucky am I?” 

Clint took it all in stride with barely a grumble about the wasted expense of a wedding that didn’t happen. Clint and David circle around each other at first, but discover a shared love for food and culinary shows hosted by Alton Brown. There’s always food when they get together (Clint cooking it, David eating it) and so they never run out of things to talk about now. 

Rachel took the break-up surprisingly well. Almost too well, Patrick sometimes thinks when he’s being most hard on himself. When he first told her that he wanted to call off the wedding, in as gentle and remorseful a voice as he possessed, she turned vociferously red and pounded, just once, on his chest with a closed fist. There was no force behind it; her eyes were already too full of tears for it to really hurt. When he reminded her that they wanted completely different things and their marriage was doomed before it began, she launched into excuses and empty promises. When he said that the real truth was that he was in love with someone else, he could feel her stiffen and bristle beside him. But when he said that that someone was David and that he was pretty sure he was gay, Rachel held onto his arms and squeezed. Her touch was filled with love and understanding which he didn't think he quite deserved. 

She gave him back his grandmother’s ring. It joined the wedding band that she never wore and Patrick passed it on to one of his cousins. He had no need for it now. Besides, he has other ideas for what David should wear on his left hand. 

He hears sometimes about her. She finished her residency in Toronto and moved home and opened her own small pediatric practice just like she wanted. She’s loved by both the children and the parents of Elm Grove and so she’s always in demand, always fulfilled by the work she feels called to do. She starts dating a friend of Nick’s, an actuary from the next town over, and they seem happy, compatible, Nick reports. She doesn’t speak ill of the husband that almost was, the one who left her at the altar for his best man. 

He loves her all the more for that. 

***

Patrick and David consider all their options. David could move to Toronto and find some work in an art gallery perhaps. Patrick could come to Schitt’s Creek and help David run the store. They could go somewhere completely new and build a different sort of life together. They never even consider long distance. Patrick can’t bear the thought of only having David through a phone again. 

In the end, the choice is easy. Patrick quits the dream job that taught him much but still cost him dear and he moves to Schitt’s Creek. With Patrick’s business acumen and dogged determination, they open Rose Apothecary within weeks and watch the store turn into a slow but steady success. He finds a small studio apartment and though David maintains a presence at the motel, he’s there more nights than not. Patrick wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Patrick likes that Schitt's Creek is a place where no one knows him and so he gets to try being himself on for size. He joins a baseball league and lands the lead in _Cabaret_ and introduces himself to everybody as “David Rose’s boyfriend” like it’s not an earth-shattering revelation every single time. For their first Open Mic Night, he plucks out a tune on his guitar to the shape of Tina Turner's words, opens his mouth, and sings the words David once intended for him.

The relationship hits a few bumps in the road, as most relationships do, but nothing they don’t bounce back from quickly—even when David tries to push Patrick into the arms of another man in a misguided attempt to give him experiences he never had. But Patrick already knows he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else. 

Because kissing David is like kissing the wind, Patrick has discovered. Sometimes it’s soft and gentle, just a whisper across his cheek or a small press along his back that feels comforting and sweet. But other times, it’s a gale force blast that nearly knocks Patrick off his feet and practically flays his skin right off his bones with its strength. Patrick never knows one kiss to the next if he should expect the caress of an ocean breeze or the tumultuous punch of a category five hurricane but he likes it all the same. He doesn't want to go back to what it was like before when kisses were calm and predictable, before they left him tangled up and breathless in their wake.

It’s an all-consuming riotous sort of love that they have and Patrick knows the difference now. He knows the one he was trying to live with and the one he can’t live without. It’s a different life than he could have predicted for himself but all the more precious for being the one he never would have imagined in all his wildest dreams. 

***

If there’s one thing Patrick regrets it’s that he was looking in all the wrong directions and missed the moment when he fell in love with David Rose. He wishes he could look back and say _this moment_ or _this_ or _this._ But it’s all a blur now. It doesn’t really matter how it came to be, he supposes, only that it now is. 

He loves how David does a hundred brave things a day, every breath in direct defiance to the bad hand the cards of fate dealt him. And Patrick feels a little of that bravery today, now that they’re on top of a cliff and Patrick is down on bended knee and David is holding another black velvet box with four golden rings arranged in a row and he’s asking David if he’s ready to make room for more. 

“Are you sure?” David is laughing or crying or both and he looks stunned and winded and like he just climbed up a mountain for Patrick and that he’d do it again and again and again, however many times Patrick asked. Patrick will never not marvel about that.

Patrick is learning to accept the things he never knew about himself, to discover what he likes and doesn’t like divorced from anyone’s expectations. He’s getting better at asking for the things he wants and for believing that he deserves to have them. He’s learning to forgive himself for the pain he put Rachel—and David—through and he’s learning to hope. He hopes he and Rachel can be friends again. He hopes his parents see how happy David makes him. He hopes the Roses welcome him into their family. He hopes their business is a stunning success. He hopes David says yes.

Patrick looks at the valley stretched out before them and takes a breath. The air is cooler up here, crisp and clear and pure and it pebbles his skin as it skims across his arms. But it also makes Patrick feel like he’s breathing right for the first time in his life, like everything he was doing up until this point was just a bad imitation of the real thing, and how did he never know the difference?

Because here’s David standing in front of him, the love of his goddamn life, in that ridiculous black sweater in the middle of summer with his ridiculously high hair and his hands full of a ridiculous number of rings and Patrick can’t imagine how he lived his life without him. Because now he knows how David’s smile lights up his insides like a marquee on Times Square and how David’s kisses make his toes curl and how his name in David’s mouth sounds like a prayer of thanksgiving and here he is asking Patrick if he’s sure when it’s the most sure Patrick has felt in his entire life. 

Patrick turns his face to meet the warm embrace of the sun and he feels nothing but a golden glow against his eyelids and cheeks. He breathes out with his new lungs and the answer comes to him, simple but sure.

"Easiest decision of my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear readers, for reading this story and loving David and Patrick as much as I do. And for those who helped me along the way and all the crazy denizens of a certain little bar.


End file.
